Charlie Foxtrot (IC, Any Tech, ATTN SR)

[Sterkistan]

Hullephaath, Phyrexian Camp

Hullephaath stands. He is somewhat human-like - seven, maybe eight feet tall, his head elongated like a misshapen fruit, his face concealed down to his nose with a grey metal helmet. A closer inspection reveals he is even less human than it first seemed, his flesh slippery and grey like on a slug.

As the Marine is carried to him, several of the Reavers holding on to the man’s limbs, Hullephaath speaks, his voice croaky. It seems like the words of Common come to him with an effort.

“Greetings, warrior.” - he says. “You will serve us well.”

During the short journey, the Marine had been performing intricate actions under his helmet using his tongue, a setup so intricate it couldn't be done on accident. And he had one last bit to do as he was brought up to the ugly-ass man. The Marine looked down on the creature, uttering a simple, "Boy I fucking hope not."
Before he flicked the final switch and, after about a 2 second delay, detonated with the force of a 10 kiloton bomb as he triggered the solar-particle reactors emergency system.

“What we have here is wafers and roll wafers,” - Cassiopeia says, “And we have some tea.” - as one of her bodyguards prepares and pours the tea, and sets out the plates, she speaks.

“The facts are simple. There has been a fractal disturbance, in fact a series of disturbances, due to a misuse of fractal artefacts. Now the civilized nations of the world are all by attack by a whole menagerie of evildoers. In this location, for instance, we are being attacked by a Phyrexian Army under Praetor Sheoldred. Like elsewhere, they desire to consume and subjugate, kill and enslave.” - she paused.

“And this is why we’re going to fight and kill them until they fuck off, and then bring the fight to Phyrexia itself as they try to run. Are you going to help us... or, perhaps, in some corruption of the senses, are you going to side with Yawgmoth?”

The Negotiator took a sip of the tea, and a bite of the wafer, savoring its taste for a moment before responding, "Seeing as they have breached standard non-aggression and treaty protocol and taken a Marine as a POW, we are most certainly allied with you in this effort. And I know for a fact that the people above will be happy to assist your nation in wartime. You need only confirm that you wish for our assistance."

The Marines seemingly had a shock to their senses, they rushed back outside and looked in the direction of the Phyrexians, seeing the plume of smoke and hearing the terrifying crack, they saluted for what seemed like a eternity, knowing what the signal they had received was, and who it was, raining down pieces on the battlefield.
The Negotiator sighed, "It is a true shame..." he paused, "We are certainly more than willing to assist you."

[Allanea]

Phyrexian Camp

Hullephaath does not suffer at all. The reaction atomizes his body instantaneously, tearing the very molecules from which he is composed apart within a tiny fraction of a second. Two hundred yards away, Praetor Sheoldred screams out for a slightly greater fraction of a second as the chitinous armor on her body is brutally peeled off and, for a tiny second, her body boils and burns. For hundreds of yards away, Phyrexian portal ships are shattered, the portals closing instantaneously. Some of the energy of the blast bursts through the portals before they manage to finally close, and those beasts and warriors preparing to cross are also engulfed in flame.

Within a mile of where Hullephaath had stood with his - no, not victim, with his victim - the entire Phyrexian camp is devastated as if it had been blown off the face of the earth with the wrath of the furious Gods themselves. Near the place where the Marine had been tormented, a steaming, smoking crater rests, within which anything of the remotest value had been destroyed. Beyond that – an area where the remains of Phyrexian constructs and warriors lie, flung across each other by the force of the blast. Some are still quivering, injured and broken, in the steaming mud, as the last beats of life are leaving their bodies. Some, the undead, are horribly maimed, or pinned by smoldering remains of burning trees and wreckage, unable to even seek the release mortality.

Phyrexian Dragons, yanked from the skies, their wings torn and broken by the explosion, are shrieking in agony and rage as they flail upon the earth, their tails and paws lashing helplessly, smashing up what remains of the camp.

Even beyond that mile of carnage there are those who are injured, tents that are set alight, individuals hurt by flying shrapnel or falling branches.

It cannot be known where Sterkistani go after death, or perhaps they do not truly perish at all. But it is clear that if that Marine had gone to an afterworld of some kind, he had gone there with a mighty escort.

Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky’s camp

There is a far-off rumbling sound, as the explosion reverberates. For miles and miles it is heard, that defiant roar with which matter splits itself apart. Patrol aircraft, satellites, spacecraft can see it – a tall sultan of fire and smoke rising from one of the Phyrexian camps.

Then, the alert rings, rising and falling in pitch, throughout the Allanean camp. Dozens and hundreds of men run to their vehicles, grabbing gas masks and gear as they hop aboard. The door to Cassiopeia’s office is locked shut.

“I see that your people don’t mess about at all.” – Cassiopeia says, smiling with slight approval. “We will discuss the implications later. I’m going to guess that this explosion was an orbital strike?”

Allanean Rio de Janeiro, minutes later

To all units concerned. We have IMINT data and instrument confirmation of a nuclear detonation at the Phyrexian camp. Proceed accordingly

The Phyrexian warriors’ offensive on the Imerian and Allanean positions begins to falter. The enemy’s troops now lack a central command. The mages that used to steer them and the radios that used to issue the commands are no longer. In the Allanean positions, men are pulling on protective coveralls and gas masks, and then, of course, throwing themselves forward at the enemy with grenade and bayonet.

[CoreWorlds]

Exodus Fleet, Semi-Nomadic Republic of Coredia

From the journal of Jedi Master Daniel Alexander Masaki, Emperor of of the Coredian Semi-Nomadic Republic, Supreme Commander of the Interstellar Defense Force

For over a thousand generations, the Jedi Knights have stood strong against the Dark Side, serving galactic civilization and performing deeds that are said to be reserved for gods. Gods we are not, and if we ever did achieve that lofty station, I can only pray we do not make the arrogant mistakes we made over the past century.

From the time I turned twelve, I became one amongst their number, serving the cause of my people and bringing justice to the wicked. The Warlord Taka-Tamen was my first true test of my skill, and I took to defeating him and his armies with everything my youthful enthusiasm could muster.

I thought that because of my skills in the Force and the unique talents of the Masaki Family's Shinobi bloodline, I could bring peace and justice to the galaxy. I thought I could wave my lightsaber and make the Dark Side crawl back into the shadows where they come from and keep light shining for as long as I breathed.

I was a fool. A young, stupid fool.

Juria. Konoha. Asfaltum. Caprica. Bailey. The Cylons. Remiel and Palpatine's machinations.

My sister.

So many deaths. So many mistakes. So many errors because I was naive enough to believe in everybody. So many things going wrong and so many planets broken because of me.

Fool.

As I sit here and write my thoughts into my private journal, I can't help but wonder if it's my fate to forever be the emperor who lost his worlds to evil. If it's my purpose to simply rage against the heavens until I fall.

Perhaps it's the fate of the Masakis to burn bright and die young, like blue giant stars. The only one to die old were my grandfather and his father before him, after all. Perhaps it is the way of the Force that denies us the peace we so crave, so that innocent families can sleep well in their beds. The peace that is promised when the Dark Lords are destroyed and the cruelties of the Dark Side brought to light, to justice.

Today is my son's sixteenth birthday, but I do not feel like celebrating much. Not when so many have been lost to war. So many bright, young stars snuffed out by the darkness.

I knew the names of every single star that was snuffed out. There's a memorial nearby that lists the name of every dead or Fallen man, woman and child from the Imperial Republic and our most trusted allies. Several billion souls lost in the wars that consumed our nation. Entire families rendered extinct through attrition.

My own Masaki Family stands at the precipice. My grandparents, my parents, my uncles and aunts. My sister and her son Janus are considered Fallen, my niece was killed when a roof fell on her during the Battle of Issus. My wife and daughter are missing, my brothers are estranged from me...and...

And...Travis.

My son. To Coredia, he's the shining example of the next generation, surrounded by a group of friends that would fight through Hell itself for him. To me...he's my son. Stars can explode, worlds can shatter, the whole universe can be ripped apart if it means I can see my son again.

If he lives still, he would be sixteen today. I don't know whether he and his friends still live out there amongst the stars. I don't know if the Force would see fit to reunite the Family or doom us all to extinction.

My few remaining friends among the fleet tells me that I have grown cold, hard. Not a warm light anymore, but the cold, harsh glare of a white dwarf star. More Shinobi than Jedi. Perhaps soon to be consumed by my own Dark Side. They knew why. I know why.

Since the loss of Coredia to the Death Star, since all the wars that have been raged, I have grown harder. It seems Master Hawkins has had an effect on me, as I'm beginning to see his way. The mission comes first, everything else be damned.

And yet...I still believe in doing the right thing over the hard thing, even if it costs me. I still believe that there's still the good and true honesty that makes me me, and will be there to do the right thing.

I just fear that I don't know what the right thing is anymore. And I no longer know who to turn to for advice,
as so many who could offer wisdom has fallen away, family, friends and allies alike...

There is a knock on the door as Daniel finished the last of his thoughts, closing the journal as he did so. "Yes?"

"Master." Ah, it's Chris Huntington, Jedi Knight and former apprentice to the Emperor of the Coredian Nomadic Empire. "We are ready for the ceremony."

"I'll be out in a minute." Came the voice.

Chris Huntington waited for more than a moment as the Emperor finally came out of his door. He was resplendent in his Jedi robes and there was a big difference from yesterday. "You cut your hair short, Master. No more huge braid."

Daniel Masaki nodded. "So I did. I felt it was time for it to go. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Master." Chris nodded.

The two, master and apprentice, walked down the hallway that served as the Masaki residence for the Chu'unthor, a moon-sized space station that was hollowed out and turned into a gigantic cylinder with crackling energy tubes running down its core. This 'core' had massive spokes that dug into several layers. The first layer is the residential zone. It boasted a large sea at one end with a carefully cultivated beach and several lakes with rivers that drained into this sea. The main portion, however, had apartments, shops and houses. Loads and loads of them. Enough for at least a good percent of the Coredian population that they managed to save before everything went to hell.

The second layer is the vast engineering section. Armies of droids and engineers swarmed all over this area, ensuring that all is well with the mobile space station. The third and final layer is the hull itself, a thick protective layer forged by the best in galactic metallurgy.

The two, master and apprentice marched through the halls of the Masaki residence. While a nice and big residence, enough to fit all the Masakis and the assorted staff hired for upkeep and to run the Executive Office of the Emperor, it's a far cry from the ancient mansions and palaces that used to be on Juria...or Coredia itself, to say nothing of the various Jedi Temples destroyed by the Sith.

Daniel smiled wistfully as he made small talk to the staff under his watch. So much has happened, but it's nice to know that people were still loyal, not because they were loyal to the office -many are- but because he still made sure to take care of each and every staff, even if his own coffers were getting thin of late. He supposed that's what separated him from other emperors and even the Sith ones.

Soon, he headed outside and took a good look at the space station as a squad of masked ANBU agents shadowed the two. Coredia doesn't have an Imperial Guard like some nations do, though from time to time, Daniel toyed with producing one out of the ranks of the superpowered elements of Coredia. Still, the ANBU serve well enough in that role.

He gazed at the magnificent structure of the mobile space station Chu'unthor, named after the ship that was meant to be a Jedi academy in space. Now it's a ship of exile.

"Good morning, Master Masaki!" Sounded a cheerful voice in the air as the holographic display of a young girl with maroon pigtails. Gracie-Chu'unthor, the primary AI of the whole ship. "Ready for the daily report?"

"Of course." Daniel nodded as he started walking with Chris.

"Okay. First topic. No major incidents reported by the Ninth, Tenth and Eleventh Fleets. As far as our allies go, we haven't heard from anyone except a few couriers from the Dornalians in ages. And for some reason, even those have died away. Maybe we've gone a bit far from civilized space."

"Well, that's depressing." Chris commented. "I hope nothing bad happened to them."

"Several Padawans from the Academy in Sector 12 have come down with the flu. We're supplying them with Endorian chicken noodles and citrus juice as they learn how to use their Force powers to heal themselves."

"Always a lesson in everything." Daniel commented. "What else?"

"The Ichiraku Ramen Shop are at war with the Corellian SandCat Bistro in Sector 37 again." Gracie sighed. "It's starting to look a lot like a Dornalian argument."

Daniel couldn't decide whether to groan or chuckle. A Dornalian argument is an argument that usually involves fist fights, martial arts and all the way up to gunfights. He settled for pinching my nose. "Who's on the scene?"

"MPs are going in to break up the fight, but they want Jedi or Shinobi assistance. Ichiraku's chefs are all known to be chakra adepts and the bistro's owner is a retired Knight."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Contact the Academy and assign a Genin squad and a Master-Padawan team to break up the fight. You have it on Pay Per View?"

"Your Majesty! That's low, even for you!" Gracie replied, aghast. Then she grinned. "I've got it on Starflix!"

Daniel smiled a bit, the first of the day. I know, I know. It's probably not the best use of AI assistance. But honestly, Force knows we need all the entertainment we can get. Plus, I bet the Dornalians and anyone else out there would get a kick out of that film series she wants to make about the frequent little fights our chefs like to get up to, carefully edited, of course. She wants to call it *Chef Wars* or something cheesy like that.

Silence befell the small group. Daniel continued walking until he stopped at the memorial of the fallen. Of course, Travis Masaki and his 'Padawan Pack' are still considered MIA, but considering all the chaos when the Exodus Fleet last left the civilized galaxy, it's pretty much a long shot to find them again. For a long time, Daniel stood at the memorial, staring at the shining, grinning face of his son and his Team Seven, Kagome Outerbridge and Nicholas Kingfisher and their sensei Naruto Uzumaki, Daniel's best friend and now angling to become the next Hokage once old Danzo finally croaks, albiet with issues concerning his second son Boruto, if the infrequent holomessages told the truth.

That team mirrored Daniel's own team, consisting of Eamonn Jarlak and Odcal Qoda under Jedi Master Kartion Elesto. Back then, having a Jedi Master train three apprentices instead of one was a new experiment, as the Shinobi weren't as well known to the galaxy and was considered something of an anomaly that caused whispers in Academies and temples galaxywide. Now, it's almost as common as the standard three-man Jounin-led team, especially with the heavy losses the Coredian Jedi Order incurred over the years.

Still, both shinobi and Jedi still seek advanced one-on-one tutelage and Daniel was pleased to see that Chris took his lessons all the way to Knighthood, earning him the rank of Jedi Master in the bargain. He never did take a Genin team, though. Maybe that should change, but with his duties as Emperor, ah, that's on the back burner.

Daniel continued staring at his son's face and wondered about the Padawan Pack. He wondered if they still lived, and if they did, what hijinks they got up to. For that matter, he longed to see Katrina and Riley again, to hold all three in his arms again. To be a family again.

He heaved a heavy sigh. But until that day, or until he himself fades into the Force, however long that will be, duty remains. He turned away, squeezing his face into a mask of serene stone as he reasserted his control over his emotional state. It wouldn't do for a Jedi Master to lose control of himself, hard as it could be on what's supposed to be a good day for celebration.

"Command Center, please." Daniel said to Gracie. Within seconds, the Emperor, his Knight and the ANBU all disappeared into the middle of the vast Command Center.

"ATTENTION! HRM in CIC!" The sergeant-at-arms immediately yelled, his booming voice carrying across the cavernous and brightly lit Command Information Center, a term we borrowed from the Colonials. Buried deep within the colony in a fake hillside, the CIC is where the things happen that need to happen. The only way in or out is by teleporting or using a tight manual corridor for security purposes.

Every man, woman and assorted other being of the Command Center saluted at Daniel's presence.

"At ease." Daniel said as he marched into his command area, walking up the stairs to his personal pad. The ANBU took up positions below and Chris Huntington took up his own posting as CAG of the Fleet. Daniel sat in his seat, glancing at his station as he poised to go about the day's duties. Looks like all is well. Well, except for that flickering shield station. Better get a maintenance crew on that.

Then...a report. Oh, right. The Infinite Improbability Drive is being tested today. Let's see what's happening. Daniel clicked a video link, alerting the scientists, headed by his cousin Dr. Rina Masaki that the test is almost ready to go.

"Make sure all the coolants are in place! I don't want the Dirac circuits and the quantum oscillators to start problems on me! Hey, cuz! I'm ready to rock and roll!" Cousin Rina grinned at the camera as offscreen scientists rush about on their business. "Give us a couple minutes to finalize everything!"

"All right." Daniel nodded, settling in for the few moments of waiting before the test.

Then, a strange wave of weirdness began washing over the entire Exodus Fleet. Daniel suddenly started sensing a deep and uncertain disturbance in the Force. Noticing Chris stiffening and the ANBU agents searching wildly for the source of the danger, it was clear that he wasn't alone in sensing the disturbance.

Then...

"Improbability Drive is online!" One of the scientists yelled, pouring over the readings.

"What? The test isn't ready yet!" Rina yelled. "Shut it down, now!"

The scientists ran around, trying to shut it down, even smashing some consoles, but nothing worked. The strange engine based on much stranger probability principles began building and building.

Suddenly, it discharged in a brilliant flash of pretty sparkles, as if a princess from another dimension suddenly showed up. Daniel began to taste pink polka dots and hear the sound of a nearby star (which surprisingly sounded like a decent round of rock music). Chris transformed into a very surprised Jedi Cat. And then a small yellow mouse suddenly dropped into existence, emitting a very confused "Pika?!"

It got weirder as the weirdness expanded outward. Chaos erupted across the Exodus Fleet as a large herd of varying species of extinct Earth animals dropped into existence, a Sith agent suddenly found herself staring down the lightsabers of a dozen confused and weirded out Jedi, and out in the fleet proper, people blinked in and out of existence, turned into children or aged years, and a Wookiee Marine found himself looking like an Ewok.

It didn't end there. Not by a long shot...

"Your Majesty!" The head comms officer yelled, breaking whatever's happening to Daniel. "I'm getting distress signals all over the place! And...wait, no, that's impossible!"

Daniel shook his head, calling upon the Force to try and get rid of the weirdness. It helped some, but not nearly enough. "Spit it out, man!"

"I'm getting distress calls from an old code. A code that hasn't been seen since your father's day! It's coming from the planet Coredia...and not just Coredia, but all over our old space!"

"What." Daniel stammered. Old memories came flooding back. Of a terrifying enemy that almost killed him and Naruto when they were elementary kids. "That's impossible! Coredia was blown up by the Shivans!"

"Be as it may, it's there! It sounds like the Shivans are attacking all over again!" The comms officer replied. "Like we've traveled back in time or something!"

"Wait!" A second comms officer called. "I'm getting signals from all over the place, and not just our space or IDF forces! New Dornalian. Allanean. Even a few Imperial signals! It sounds like we aren't alone in this weird frakked up universe situation! I'm also getting a very weird signal from a nation calling itself Coredia, but not like our Coredia! Sounds like they're in trouble too!"

"There's more! I'm getting a distant distress signal from a Battlestar Yamato! But there's no Battlestar with that name in our records! Signal looks a bit like ours, but has a timestamp code from somewhere in the future!"

"Meow!" Chris the cat yelled for an ANBU to transform him back, then coughed up a hairball. "Man, that was weird! Master! Whatever happened to set off our improbability drive, it just got worse! Good news is, we're clearly not alone anymore, but we need to figure out what we need to do!"

Daniel closed his eyes, focusing. "Right. Raise Holland on the Coredia and tell him to take the Eleventh and save that Yamato. The Tenth Fleet will remain here to protect the Exodus Fleet. I will take the Duel of the Fates and the Ninth Fleet and gather as many of our forces to ascertain the nature of this Coredia madness as well as stop the Shivans, if indeed they have returned. Detach some Wolfpacks with Jedi and Shinobi teams and find out what's happening in Dornalian and Allanean space. We'll handle that other Coredia later. But if they encounter Imperial or my sister's forces, retreat and link up with me!"

Gracie-Chu'unthor chimed in. "I'm going to try and raise my sisters and get some coordination down! It's been so long...but I'll hold down the fort! You go and do your saving the day thing!"

"Thanks, Gracie! I just hope I don't have to see the worst ever again..." Daniel sighed, then tapped two comm links. "Chu'unthor to Duel of the Fates. Transferring flag to you immediately! Rocky, send my X-wing to the Fates!"

"Ready to receive, Majesty!" Admiral Horvath, current Supreme Commander of the IDF, replied warmly. "Just get right over here!"

A twittering also answered Daniel. "[Be right over there, boss!]"

"This is going to be a big mess before it's all over. I just know it." Daniel groused. He glanced at the little yellow mouse trying to figure out what to do with it. Then it decided that Daniel made a nice perch and leaped onto his shoulders. He could feel powerful electricity coursing inside its body, far more than he would guess such a creature could carry. "Guess you want to come along, huh? Who are you, anyway?"

"Pikachu!" It introduced itself. Daniel was sure that it didn't know what just happened, but all the same, it seemed happy to have him. Maybe it can sense his own lightning nature?

"Well, I can't deny another lightning user can be useful. Guess we'll get to know each other along the way." Daniel disappeared and appeared on the massive Star Battleship Duel of the Fates. "Admiral? Everything ready to go?"

Admiral Kyle Horvath, a charming, genial admiral nodded as a small fighter left the Chu'unthor to dock with the fleet. He glanced at the mouse on the shoulders of the Emperor, but made no comment. "Yes, sir. We're dealing with a swamp that somehow appeared in one of our corridors, but that shouldn't affect our combat capability."

Daniel nodded. In the distance, the Eleventh Fleet began disappearing into hyperspace. "Weirdest situation ever, I can tell you that. Make the jump to Jurai!"

"Not Coredia, directly?" Admiral Horvath asked.

"Need to see if Pellaeon's there. If the clock's turned back, somehow, I'll need him and the Fleets that were stationed there when we last had it. We'll then make for Issus and Konoha and see if they're around. If not, we'll have to try and stomp them on our own." Daniel said.

Admiral Horvath nodded. "I see. You want the advantage we never had, but we shouldn't delay too long. Remember how swift the Shivans were."

Daniel nodded. "I know. We need to be as swift. Make the jump to hyperspace."

Horvath gave the orders and the Ninth Fleet leaped into hyperspace like a horde of cavalry. Will they save the day? Only time will tell!

-------

ESD Megalodon

In a graveyard of ships, Imperial and Coredian alike, the Elite-class Star Destroyer Megalodon breathed once more as a mighty ship of the Coredian Interstellar Defense Force. But worse to come, it came under sudden attack by none other than a gigantic two-kilometer long Megalodon shark that was somehow capable of swimming through space. It immediately spewed a mass of turbolasers that lashed out at the shark, driving the beast away to look for easier prey as Commodore Jeisha Lymann ordered a status report. Other than the strange space shark, the ship was pristine, as if it just came out of the drydock and yet the timestamps showed that it's been in service since before the Shivan Wars.

Something strange is going on here, and the Commodore was determined to find out what. But just one problem:

Daniel Masaki, Commander, Rogue Squadron, and the guy she was meant to transport to safety, was missing.

If this strange situation had anything to do with his sudden disappearance, then she promised that if she could find the one responsible, she would strangle them with her bare hands.

Until then, she listened as her crew reported a mass wave of distress calls from all over space. It seems whatever reality distortion that created the shark caused a massive problem in the stars.

"Locate the nearest distress signal and make the jump to hyperspace to that location. We cannot solve everything, but perhaps we can save at least one situation as per our duty in the IDF." Commodore Lymann ordered. "Jump on my mark. 3...2...1...mark!"

The stars elongated and the mighty Star Destroyer disappeared into hyperspace...

------

Battlestar Yamato
3227 years after the present time, or so the ship's chrono recorded

It was the worst of times for Padawan Mark Amaral, the last surviving apprentice of the fallen Emperor Travis Masaki. A small and unassuming boy with a mop of brown hair, he was the runt of his class, the one voted 'most likely to die in his first mission' by the rest of the Academy. And yet...the Emperor has chosen him, out of all the favored academy students, earning him the ire of all the other graduation students.

"Who does he think he is, that he's favored by the Emperor?"

"Is Masaki blind? Look at the kid's grades!"

"His family must have pulled some strings! Isn't his dad a Clan head?"

He himself always wondered why Travis would choose him and not the top student. Every time he asked his master in that squeaky voice of his, the self-proclaimed Time-Space Master would always smile. "Because I see potential in you, Mark, even if no one else would see it. You will be a wise and powerful Knight."

And even when the Emperor told Mark to escape just as Giygas and his allies attacked, he never stopped believing that Mark was an important person. "I've said this time and time again, kid. You will be a Jedi Knight. And if the moment comes that I will fall by the Cosmic Destroyer's hand, even though I will not be in this mortal coil, I know that somehow, you will find a way to defeat Giygas, because no matter what, I believe in you, my apprentice! Now go! The Yamato awaits you!"

Now, the tiny boy brushed away tears as he laid down in a bunker of the Battlestar Yamato, the last known survivor of the cataclysm that took his Master and everything that he knew. "Why me? Everyone's dead...and I'm all that remains of the Order? It's impossible!"

But he was here, a small twelve-year-old boy with an immense task before him. How would he even begin? For now, survival is the utmost goal and he would have to do everything in his power, such as it was, to ensure that it was so.

Then klaxons suddenly rang out and Chief ordered all crew to battlestations. The boy sat up suddenly, fearing the worst. "Oh no..."

As futile as it was, he ran out of his bunker and headed for the bridge of the Battlestar. Along the way, he could see that there were many passengers crying and praying for deliverance that would never come, as well as heavy damage in some areas. The Battlestar has lost its Yamato Cannons in the battle, as well as a number of its turrets and missile pods, and one of its flight pods was out of commission, but even if it was crippled, it was able fight...to the death, if necessary.

Captain Akira Kurosawa barked orders to his crew as Mark entered the bridge. "Captain? What's going on?"

"We've just encountered an active contact on our scanners. No telling what it is. Could be one of those Demons or something else." Akira replied softly to the young Padawan. He's much too young for this sort of thing. If only Masaki had sent someone older with him...but who knew what the man was thinking?

To their dismay, it was indeed some of the demons. Gigantic ship-sized dragons with the power to destroy entire fleets on their own. The Battlestar roared into active duty, firing what's left of its guns in a brilliant display of blue-white energy and glowing golden projectiles. But there were three of them to the single Battlestar and it wouldn't last long...

Feeling a disturbance in the Force, little Mark suddenly cried out, "Call for help!"

"But there's nothing out there!" The comms officer yelled. "Everything's gone!"

"I-If you can't trust me, then trust the Force!" The small boy yelled. "There's somebody out there who can help us! I know it!"

Captain Kurosawa looked at the boy for a moment, then at the comms officer. "Do it. Something strange is happening here. Like the boy said, just trust the Force."

"Alright..." The comms officer replied as the ship started shaking from the demon-dragons' terrible firepower. "Yamato Actual to anyone out there! Yamato Actual to anyone out there! Mayday! Mayday! Under attack by enemy forces! Repeat, under attack by enemy forces!"

-------

Carmel-by-the-Sea, A small town in California, New Dornalia

Five long years have passed since Jesse Masaki fled Tenetia with his small brother Kiyoshi in tow. With his brother in charge in Coredia, or so it seems, he knows he has to get away in order to keep Kiyoshi safe and train himself for the confrontation to come.

He first settled in London, New Dornalia, but didn't exactly find it to his taste. Much too like home with the Coruscanti-like accents and the stiff nature, so he packed up again, picked a seemingly random small town out of a catalog, and headed there.

It turned out to be an idyllic seaside town in California. A beautiful place that Jesse knew would be a good place to raise Kiyoshi until the day he's ready to take on the title of Genin and go out on missions with him.

Until then...

"Come, come, little brother. I am not quite finished yet with you." Jesse grinned as metal implements rained down on Kiyoshi as they worked out in the backyard of their home.

Young Kiyoshi's daily training consists of learning copious amounts of martial arts, Force training, and even ninjutsu. Under his older brother's strict regimen, he's already mastered the art of walking on walls and well on his way to mastering water-walking, or the "Ninja Jesus stuff" as some locals like to call it.

Today is the day he gets to improve his dexterity, mostly by dodging all the deadly-looking implements his brother throws at him. He is not yet old enough to have mastered the telekinetic skills of the Jedi and the Sith, so he has to make do by being fast enough to avoid everything thrown at him. Even....

A warning! Kiyoshi ducked backwards as a bullet whizzed just over his nose, then fell backwards, turning the momentum into a roll. "That was a bullet, you evil jerk!"

"Of course, I'm an ex-Sith. Besides, many enemies will employ attempts to deny a Jedi or Sith the ability to reflect them back. Of course, many forget that we can create walls of Force and stop them or turn them back. Even so, you will do well to never be where you're sure to be hit. It would not do to have new holes in your body, yes?" Jesse asked nonchalantly. "If you are deprived of your powers, you will need to be sure to have alternatives to fall back on."

"That's true..." Kiyoshi said. "But why you'd have to try and kill me?"

"That bullet would have only given you a knock on the head. Because your brother will not be as gentle as I. You know as well as I that we must prepare for the confrontation." Jesse sighed. "I hate it as much as you do, but you and I must be ready for the day. It will not be easy, but it must be done, for you know Janus will not rest until the galaxy is in his hands, and neither will Mother."

"I know." Kiyoshi said. The stories of their mother and brother's evil ways has permeated even into New Dornalia. He vaguely remembered cousin Travis' scars at being tortured by Nightshade and promised himself that he would never suffer like that! "But...I'd like to relax sometimes, too!"

Jesse sighed. He was about to speak when something weird suddenly started permeating into reality. A disturbance in the Force unlike any other. Kiyoshi, being very strong, stiffened as he sensed it too. Then it died away.

Only for an outdoor table to grow fangs and evil eyes to try and attack them. Kiyoshi dodged the first attack, allowing Jesse to whip out his lightsaber and slash it into pieces. "We have quite the problem, little brother."

"I know. What are we going to do?" Kiyoshi asked.

"We're going to find out what's going on." Jesse said, heading inside to turn on the TV. "Go upstairs and change to something fresh."

"Okay." Kiyoshi nodded. He looked warily at the house decorations, as if daring them to attack him. No problem here so far. He headed upstairs to his room while Jesse turned on the TV.

*Insert Dornie News here*

Jesse looked as strange sightings were reported on the news, then noticed Kiyoshi coming down. He has on a white T-shirt with red sleeves and a sleeveless grey hoodie open in the front, along with cargo shorts. He also sported a small utility belt with ninja gear and a kunai pouch on his right leg above the knee. Guess it's time to change himself.

"Anything big?" Kiyoshi asked.

"Not sure yet. Hold down the fort while I go change too." Jesse said. He headed upstairs to his master bedroom and took off his clothes to take a quick shower. Once he was done, he put on a blue A-shirt and a short-sleeved green shirt with blue sleeves and pockets with white highlights and a matching blue set of pants. He buttoned up the shirt and tucked it into his pants, then reached for his own belt and kunai pocket. He then got out his flak jacket and black cloak and wrapped them around his shoulders.

As he headed back downstairs, he heard the doorbell ring. Glancing at the front, he noticed a rather short brown-haired boy about thirteen or fourteen in the uniform of the Ordermen. The jacket was open, revealing a solid black T-shirt tucked into his green pants and the sleeves were rolled up, clasped at the elbow with sleeve clips. He also had a belt with a pair of guns and a pair of lightsabers. Hold on, the Order doesn't usually take people younger than sixteen. That's the way of the Jedi and Sith!

And he looked strangely familiar, as if a ghost from the past. Then it hit Jesse. He walked up to the door as Kiyoshi decided to switch to cartoons and opened it, looking down at the younger boy. "Well, well. If it isn't John Watsen. I never thought I'd meet you at last."

The young Orderman just looked up at his former cousin-by-adoption with a smirk. "Neither have I. I've been asked by the Order to request the services of one Jesse Masaki to aid us in our time of need and to escort him to HQ. Further information will be given once he has been retrieved."

Old spy reports of a very quiet child adopted by the Masaki Clan and then leaving after a relatively short stay came to the fore. So this is the boy. He wondered what had happened to him since heading into New Dornalia and being adopted by a thoroughly middle class family that fit him better than the admittedly rich if down-to-earth style of the Masaki Clan. Well, wonder no more. Somehow, the Order of the People's Acolytes got ahold of him. Must be the stealth skills he's heard about.

"Very well. I shall require a few moments." Jesse said. John nodded and the door closed. His first impression of John Watson was a polite, if confident young man, but wasn't too impressed with anybody, especially the rich. If he's that kind of personality, then no wonder he couldn't take the Masaki insanity well.

"You're going off again?" Kiyoshi asked, overhearing the conversation with a concerned gaze.

"I'll be back, of course." Jesse smiled as he went to pat Kiyoshi's head. "I'm going to find out what's happening. When I return, there will be stories, and perhaps learning new techniques but only if you go to school and stay out of trouble. And don't buy too much junk food!"

"I will. I promise!" Kiyoshi smiled, then hugged his elder brother.

Stars can burn if anything happened to young Kiyoshi, Jesse said to his heart as he hugged back. He reluctantly pulled away and headed upstairs to grab his goody bag. It's an old backpack that he used when escaping his mother's clutches and served him well in being able to carry a good deal more than its size would suggest. He took it and headed back downstairs. "I'll be getting you a babysitter soon. Behave in their presence or else!"

"Wait a minute! I don't need one!" Jesse stifled a smile at Kiyoshi's impertinence. Ah, the perils of an independent eight-year-old.

"Until you are Genin, you will require one. That is my demand!" Jesse replied sternly.

"Uh-uh! I'd rather get killed by your training, Jesse!" Kiyoshi whined.

"Then you will die braver than most when I return." Jesse replied, releasing an illusionary aura that made him look bigger and more Sithly than usual. Kiyoshi shrank back into his seat in terror.

"Alright! I give! I'll behave when the babysitter comes! I promise!" Kiyoshi shot back.

"Good. I shall expect a report when I get back." Jesse said, then opened the door where the young Watsen waited. "I am ready."

"Very good. Touch my arm. We'll teleport." John said. Jesse touched his arm and the two of them disappeared with a soft *pop*, arriving at the People's Acolytes Headquarters.

*ND will take it from here*

Meanwhile, a distant signal was sent to JRCCC. A signal from a Gracie unit that hasn't been detected since...Impossible! Or is it...?

And then the news media from the Elemental Nations of Coredia came alive with the voices of harried reporters trying to report all the sudden chaos in Coredia. Something deeply wrong is happening, but it began with a celebration at first...

-------

Eos System, Chocobo Alliance, Elemental Nations of Coredia

Little did anyone know that there's not one, but two versions of Coredia in this universe now. On the day they unite as one force, it will be a day long remembered for all those who cherish freedom in the galaxy. But that will be another story that shall be told another time.

Today, a great ceremony is held in the Crown City Insomnia of the Kingdom of Lucis, the newest kingdom to join the Elemental Nations. It is a modern, progressive nation of about four hundred million people. The Emperor of all Coredia, the tiny old man Onoko no Kyudo is meeting with King Regis Caelum CXVIII to sign the Constitution of Nations, the grand constitution that unites the Elemental Nations as a whole and binds the power of gods and emperors alike to serve the greater good of Coredia.

Onoki is bald, save for a white topknot at the back of his head and wisps of hair on the sides, though he does have a moustache and a needle-like beard. He wears an odd green and red cape-like garment over a classic ninja uniform on him, owing to his origins as the former Tsuchikage of Iwagakure no Kuni, the Hidden Stone City. Due to his advanced age of three hundred and change, he likes to float in midair either using his own vast powers or on a cloud of reiki that also serves as an comfort chair for his frequently protesting back.

King Regis, on the other hand, is a man with wealthy taste in fine black clothing and a pimped-out cane that he uses to hide a powerful sword when in combat. People, even his own citizens, call him the King of Cool for his excellent fashion sense and he often runs with it, adding in a pair of sunglasses for added style.

"It has been said before, but must be said again. The Elemental Nations has been extremely valuable in not only repelling the Niflheim hordes, but also fixing our Crystal so that I no longer feel the need to drain myself maintaining the Wall." King Regis said, sitting on a finely crafted chair next to the floating Onoki. "I no longer fear that my son Noctis will share the same fate as my own. We will always be in your debt."

"It is merely our way, your Majesty." Onoki smiled warmly yet modesty. "We, the Elemental Nations see something broken, we promise to fix it. We see something wrong, we endevour to correct that wrong. We made a promise to help all those in need and we never back down, nor give up, until we achieve that promise. That is our way."

"Your creed does you great credit and encourages all to be stronger than they can otherwise be." King Regis said."The Kingdom will surely benefit greatly from achieving together what we never could alone. Yes. The time has come to sign the Constitution and join you as brothers among the stars."

"Then let us not delay the celebrations any further." Onoki nodded, then clapped. A very elaborately decorated scroll was placed on the table in front of the monarchs by the Elemental Nation's lore spirits, wispy creatures that serve to protect the Constitution and other major items of lore in the Nations. The Constitution of the Elemental Nations is a very large document, detailing the rights and responsibilities of the leadership of the Elemental Nations and the hundreds of nations under its rule. By the will of the spirits who have helped to define its make up, the Constitution has been the law of the stars for three thousand years since the Second Emperor Miyamoto Musashi wrote the first incarnation. And spirits willing, it will be the law of the stars until the end of time itself.

The scroll unfurled, giving the monarchs a detailed look at the contents. The Constitution serves to govern the rights of not only humans, non-humans, spirits and even artificial intelligences and gods, but even the rights of the various democracies, kingdoms, empires, fiefdoms, republics and other government organizations under the umbrella to govern their own affairs, save the foreign and military affairs that demand attention from the Nations as a whole. Each nation can have its own military according to its own directives, but in times of great crisis, they are subservient to the Military Corps as a whole. This allows for a great deal of variety to combat invaders, such that an enemy will have to deal with a thousand different doctrines and a variety of magical and technological powers.

The Elemental Nations divides its global power among three forces. The Emperor governs the Nations as a whole and sets the overall policy and direction the Nation undertakes. The Chancellor handles the internal affairs and governs the nations within. Even the Kages of the Shinobi Union and the Daimyo of the Samurai, the most ancient powers of the Elemental Nations, must defer to her in internal matters. The Shogun commands the Military Corps and handles the external affairs between the Elemental Nations and foreign powers beyond itself. In times of war between the Elemental Nations and foreign powers, it is he who coordinates the vast and complicated nature of the Elemental Nations's defenses, from the mighty Battlestations and superweapons to the youngest and greenest Genin.

When it comes to welcoming a new nation into the Elemental Nations, though, this is where the Emperor makes his mark. It is his duty to welcome new powers into the Coredian fold and as such, he must personally sign the documents that bind the new power with the Elemental Nations.

That means there's incredibly heavy security around both monarchs. The Internal Security Corps, the Stealth and Intelligence Corps, Secret Corps, Scout Corps and the Imperial Guard all coordinate to ensure the security of the meeting goes off without a hitch, while the local Kingsglaive and Crownsguard lend their expertise of the lay of the land to defend from possible terrorist attacks. Even the space surrounding the planet Eos was filled with warships from the Kingdom and the Naval Corps, designated with a 'fire first, ask questions later' attitude to ensuring the safety and future of the Elemental Nations.

But even with all the preparations, even with all the Sensor Corps agents sending drones all over the place. Even with the monitoring of all possible avenues of entry by unwanted parties, from simple translation to elaborate dimensional or temporal or even more exotic means, nobody could have predicted what happened next.

First, the Emperor and the King signed the Constitution and shook hands, cementing a bond that goes beyond simple alliance and into a form of brotherhood among nations. A thirteen-year-old boy in a black sleeveless hoodie over a grey T-shirt and shorts named Noctis clapped along with the crowd of onlookers, finally relieved that all the fancy stuff was over. He slips away with his friends Ignis, Gladious and Prompto to get something to eat.

Second, the Science Corps, Barrier Corps and Sensor Corps all began recording a strange shift in the space-time continuum, centering on somewhere in deep space near the nation of Allanea, a nation with some contact, but no formal relations with the Elemental Nations. It's as if space and time and the multiple dimensions that make up the Universe were being twisted and torn, discombobulating even the valuable and expensive sensor net of the Elemental Nations.

Then somewhere farther in deep space, a second shift suddenly rippled outwards, seemingly as a reaction to the first big shift. A shift in the probabilities inherent in the universe, spreading out in all directions. Impossibilities would become possible.

A nation once thought dead will return.

Enemies once thought vanquished will revive.

Friends unknown and known will find themselves tested like never before.

And suddenly...

---

The Emperor and the King both started groaning as they were hit by the waves of strangeness, their senses going haywire as if they were hit by the sound of giant gongs ringing everywhere. Their guards surrounded them, weapons pointed out and eyes searching for targets even as the more powerful ones also groaned in confused pain. Medical personnel were radioed in, but the waves of strangeness ended as soon as it began.

They shared a look of 'what the fuck is going on here?' and started barking orders to give them sitreps, now!

---
The Avatar Awakens

As the wave crossed all of Coredia, causing chaos and disruption everywhere, even the embodiment of Coredia, the Avatar, was not immune.

On a Secret Corps base on a beautiful tropical planet where the young Avatar Joshua Midgard is training in the use of his powers and responsibilities, his powers suddenly awakened in the middle of an outdoor training session. But today, the madness crisscrossing the universe affected the Avatar on a deep, fundamental level and his powers reacted to the danger by sheer instinct. His eyes glowed an ethereal blue color, his green hair and the sailor-style Secret Corps uniform he's wearing rippled wildly as waves of energy washed out from his body and he began floated in mid-air, gathering the elements around him in a protective cocoon.

His powers expanded out of his control and began to affect the planet beyond, triggering earthquakes, volcanoes, windstorms and tsunamis. Sheets of chakra discharge, chi waves and spirit bursts rushed out of him and even the tao, Coredia's term for the fundamental structures of space and time became affected...

The Avatar's power combined with the wave of weirdness and then things happened that were never supposed to happen. Somehow, the Avatar managed to reassert control over its Sage State, and the boy collapsed unconscious. But it was too late...

---

The massive Wall protecting the Kingdom of Lucis and its Crown City was hit by a sudden, strange warping of energy. The wall suddenly collapses in a flash of huge sparks. All parties, including the Empire of Niflheim are surprised by this sudden turn of events.

But Emperor Aldercapt is quick to take advantage of the chaos and orders a large-scale invasion of Insomnia, seizing the moment to attack before Lucis and the Elemental Nations could recover. In a surprise maneuver, thousands of magitek Imperial soldiers and war machines suddenly teleport into Insomnia within minutes, and Imperial dreadnoughts battle the Military Corps and Lucian battleships in orbit, sparking renewed conflict...

---

The dimensional pocket that hosts Coredia's maximum security prison collapsed, belching the prison into realspace instead of killing everything inside as it was supposed to. The prisoners, seeing they are free and the Internal Security seals suppressing their powers were gone, went on a terrible rampage, slaughtering every guard they could find and stealing a ship to flee the prison.

Once free, one of their number, the Grandmaster of the Order of the Void, had a proposition for the prisoners. When they listened, they grinned as one and gave themselves a new name: Apostles...

---

A massive, whale-like monster known to the Elemental Nations as Sin swam the sea of space until it found a massive asteroid-shaped porcupine named Lavos. In the darkness between the stars, they formed an alliance of monstrosity to challenge the enemy they hated so much...

---

The most ancient enemy of the Coredians, Ethereal Queen Iseria, found herself alive on a massive space station that appeared out of nowhere. The old man who ruled the space station called himself Porky Minch. He desired revenge on the Elemental Nations and a new body. She desired to rebuild an army to conquer the Elemental Nations once more.

In darkness, an alliance is hatched.

---
Planet Eos, Elemental Nations of Coredia

A young boy with blue hair wearing an unbuttoned black short-sleeved shirt over a blue T-shirt and cargo pants fell out of a strange hole in the sky. He was followed by a small group of screaming teenagers who realized they were about to die by splatting across the ground.

Then one of the falling boys transformed, becoming a massive silver dragon that snatched the falling people onto his back, only to find themselves in the middle of a warzone over a magnificent city...

---

Various locations, Shinobi Union, Elemental Nations

Another group of teenagers, similar yet different to the first, woke up to find their powers restored. In a mission gone terribly wrong, these kids found themselves kidnapped and forced to "stay" at a hospital that desired to "cure" them of their powers, and also stole genetic material from them, then combined and impregnated one of the teenagers. That teenager eventually gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. Now, two years have passed and the Uchiha Clan still seek to hunt down and destroy the one responsible for this disgrace. Meanwhile...

The toddlers' power resonated with the Avatar and they also found themselves glowing and giving off power, but at least that's all it did.

And that power gave back what was lost, so that they may continue the journey ahead.

But all the power and weirdness crashed into the Shinobi Union, causing much chaos and disruption. Founders of the villages that would one day give rise to the Shinobi Union,
Hashirama and Madara found themselves walking alive once more, though in bodies and clothes they haven't worn in decades before their deaths. Konohagekure no Sato welcomed them with open arms, but as the Hokage updated them on what had transpired since their deaths, warnings came from everywhere, swamping the Military Corps with cries for help.

A rise in monster and animal attacks, even wild Pokemon attacks, were reported by agents in the field. Many suspect the wave of disruption may have addled their senses, making them go insane. The Mon Corps were stretch thin handling all the cases, so they reluctantly called for support to put down the monster uprising...

A large army of fallen ninjas, mages and assorted bad news have begun pillaging weakly defended planets all over the Elemental Nations and even beyond, using the chaos as a smokescreen. Nobody seemed to notice any link between them or that they were secretly bankrolled by the mysterious terror organization Quark...

With the chaos reported by their spies in the Elemental Nations, the traditional enemies known as the Six-Star Alliance began to stir, but this time, they will gather two new allies that also disliked the Elemental Nations. For now, they are content to watch the chaos and see what happens once the dust settles. But when it is time...they shall strike...

And finally, a massive Tyranid hive fleet have been spotted in the outreaches of Coredia. Already, they're attacking outlying systems, eating every tasty-looking Coredian in sight, but the majority of the hive fleet is making its way towards Vanguard, attracted by the Avatar's explosion of power.

One thing is for sure. Though the chaos with old enemies and comrades returning and monsters appearing where they're not supposed to was nasty enough for even the powerful Elemental Nations to handle, everything changed when the Tyranids attacked...

[Sterkistan]

Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky’s camp

There is a far-off rumbling sound, as the explosion reverberates. For miles and miles it is heard, that defiant roar with which matter splits itself apart. Patrol aircraft, satellites, spacecraft can see it – a tall sultan of fire and smoke rising from one of the Phyrexian camps.

Then, the alert rings, rising and falling in pitch, throughout the Allanean camp. Dozens and hundreds of men run to their vehicles, grabbing gas masks and gear as they hop aboard. The door to Cassiopeia’s office is locked shut.

“I see that your people don’t mess about at all.” – Cassiopeia says, smiling with slight approval. “We will discuss the implications later. I’m going to guess that this explosion was an orbital strike?”

"Unfortunately not." the Negotiator responded, "That was one of our marines activating a capture fail-safe. It's only to be used in dire situations, so the situation must have been very dire. but with his location, I have a feeling it wasn't in vain."
"And I'm sure that command won't take the activation of such a protocol lightly on the Phyrexians. They'll burn for forcing him to activate it."

In the cruiser above, the Superintendent Fleet General swiveled in his chair to look down onto the blast below. One of the bridge crew sounded off, "That was Squad Leader Polas sir, he initiated Capture Protocol Final approximately 30 seconds ago."
The Fleet General sat for a moment before speaking, "Show me the encampment."
An image flashed in front of his face, the devastation made his heart pump angrily in his chest, the Marines motto reverberating in his ears, 'Jumping into hell, and taking as many as we can with us.' This Marine had certainly taken a whole lot of them to hell with him, but made the ultimate sacrifice, leaving a wife and three kids behind who won't see their father ever again. The Fleet General boiled with rage at the Phyrexian side for forcing his hand.
"According to Negotiator Ryxen, talks with the Allaneans are going well, Negotiator Veris, Pilot Sanco and Trooper Paris managed to escape the Phyrexian camp before the Protocol was activated."
The Fleet General stood up, "Prepare the deployment pods and the catapult decks. Let's send those bastards to hell."
Immediately hell broke loose on the cruisers, Pilots manned their aircraft, Marines either jumped into deployment pods or onto drop-ships, and artillery drivers readied their vehicles and hooked them into the drop-ships. The HOUND pilots jammed on their gear and entered their systems, either awaiting at the airlock or entering the catapult decks.

The Negotiator looked down at the device on his wrist, "Well it appears that you'll have our support regardless. The call to wipe them off the face of the Earth has gone out, I'd say we have about 45 seconds before the Hounds get here."
As he said that, the catapult decks fired their first groups of HOUNDS, almost 400 in total, and loaded the next group. While at the same time the drop-ships, fighter craft and pods launched. All making a beeline for the warzone.

[Higher Japan]

"Shadows detected, please evacuate. I repeat. Shadows detected-" Was all that the staff of the research facility could hear as they quickly attempted to escape the doomed space station as it slowly fell to it's demise in the middle of the void. Large black masses spread through the entire facility as it started consuming everything and everyone it touched as escape pods were launched from the base. Eventually the base blew up as a blue wave swept through the empty void of space, releasing a large wave of energy that would've been picked up by every system near it as the base eventually got turned into a black mass as it stayed in the middle of the void. Reports were quickly relayed back to the main research center as the crew scrambled around.

"Empress, we've received reports that Pandora's box has been opened. Shadows have suddenly started reappearing everywhere and has taken over one of our research facilities." The officer said as they walked next to her, walking down the hallways leading a large room with a large statue in it. The statue was suspended in a large thick glass cylindrical container as the top of it almost hit the ceiling. Mercury was being routinely pumped into the chamber as Justine and Caroline stood in the command room which oversaw the large scale operations as the light flickered slightly as the mercury suddenly shut off as the lights suddenly burst. "My power, has returned." A deep voice called out as the alarms went off before the lights in the command room came back online. The glass suddenly started cracking before it shattered as mercury leaked into the drains that it was located on, while glass hit most of the security personnel as the figure stood in the center of the room before eventually disappearing.

"Dear god alarm all systems! The god of control has broken free!" The empress shouted as the red alarm was triggered throughout the entire base, men escorting the two girls out of the command room before a few more officers ran up to her and began to speak. "Nyx and Izanami have also broken free. We can't get in touch with them." The empress upon hearing this quickly walked off to her personal ship as it took off back to her main office. Back at the vault of the council of wardens, 4 books were being taken out as all personnel were quickly evacuated with the books locked in titanium cases which had numerous wards slapped onto them.

Landing at the main office, she quickly rushed to her office as she pulled out a few droids which were designed for communication. As banging could be heard on the main gates of the entrance while the metal shutters closed on the windows, she quickly gave her message as the gate could be heard being busted down. "If you're hearing this this is the empress of Higher Japan sending a help signal, coordinates are enclosed within the droid. Gods on the loose, end of humanity is nigh." Was all she could say before the shadows could be heard moving to her office as she dropped them through a secret entrance, sending them through space through a shuttle as it headed towards where activity was prime. As banging could be heard on the door, she pulled out a pistol as she sighed, and as they busted in she pointed it at her head before firing.

The droids would eventually land at the Allanean camp as it crashed into the ground.

[Loxana]

It’s didn’t make sense when it stepped through the portal, it’s form a blanched blob of flesh, a multitude of fleshless feet supporting the blob and innumerable tentacles and eye stalks, it’s huge frame barely fitting through the immense portal . For the first time Arthur felt a pang of fear surge through his body as he tried to make sense of what he saw.

“Primordial.” said Morgan as she stood next to the king as she looked around and saw several soldiers either go mad or turn tail and run screaming in fear. Tanks and armored vehicles were suddenly abandoned as troopers climbed out and clawed at their eyes. Up above jets and helicopters began to fall from the sky as their pilot’s minds burst from the site below.

Even the new knights seemed to falter as they stared at the creature before them. With a speed that was almost imperceptible several tentacle lashed out and snatched the nearest knights and lifted them into the air high above before slamming the warriors back into the ground with a sickening crunch.

“It’s name is Eihort, you should be so honored that they sent him here.” Morgan said to Arthur as she walked towards The Pale Beast and removed her cloak and cast it aside. Speaking several loud words of incantation and moving her hands she strode confidently across the battlefield.

Arthur though she was mad and jogged to catch up to his insane half-sister to save her from herself. A huge shadow crossed above him though and he looked up in time to see a huge meteor falling from the sky.

“You stupid witch.” he cursed as he dove for the nearest bit of cover he could find. Those that remained on the battlefield did likewise.

Slamming into the Primordial with a sickening thud at first and then an explosion that drove the ancient creature directly into the earth.

“See brother that wasn’t so hard was it?” Morgan shouted with that cocky grin on her face again “Would have thought a Primordial would be a bit more resilient but I suppose not.”

A rumbling from the crater indicated otherwise. A shrieking roar pierced the air as huge chunks of the meteor were flung from the crater and tentacles grasped the side and pulled the hulking blob from the pit. Arthur tried to cover his ears in vain as he felt like his head was going to explode.

He looked up in time to see fireballs erupts from the sorceress' hand and wash over the tentacles descending towards her. They didn’t seem to feel or care about the arcane fire that covered them and they slammed into the earth where Morgan stood seconds ago. More explosions rocked the Primordial as Morgan appeared on the other side of The Pale Beast and launched another salvo of spells.

Lowering the visor on his helmet Arthur gripped Excalibur tighter and charged towards Eihort. Gunfire could be heard from behind him and he watched as several bullets slammed into the bulk of the beast’s body, seemingly though they had no effect on the “divine” monster. The ground quaked as Arthur was joined by several of the new knights and those warriors of his that still stood. Tentacles descended upon them again and blades flashed through the air to try and cut through them. Every now and again a scream that sailed into the air indicated one of the knights hadn’t been quick enough.

Reaching the Primordial’s body Arthur realized how foolish he had been in his charge. The sheer size of the god was immense. Determined as ever the Arthur plunged his blade into the monster with a scream and was rewarded with a fountain of gray liquid erupting from the wound. Those few knights that had made it also tore into the side of the god and hacked and slashed the best they could.

[Imeriata]

"FOR HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS AND THE DIVINE GODS! ETERNAL GLORY TO THE FIRST TO IMPALE ONE OF THE BASTARDS! THE MEAD IS ON ME FOR THE FIRST TO FALL!" The cry went out as soldiers corrected their birdlike gasmasks, and then went over the top. Horns were thundering, Music was blasting at worrying loud volumes as the first men went over the barricades. The roar of artillery added to the musics and the cracklings of machineguns supported the men as they roared ancient warhymns and ancestral prayers to keep the vile and unholy at bay. It was not outright spells but the holy meaning in the chants were known to be painful and disturbing for that which were unpleasing in the eyes of the gods.

Flamethrowers went first and showered the enemy in cleansing fire as grenades followed up at positions which could hold enemies followed by men with cold steel and clerics holding torches with helgeild or holy fire, flames that had been burning for ages and had been originally been taken from the holy funeral pyres of a god. Official doctrine was clear that it was not the same fire when part was removed but the holiness was not diminished. The very light was more than enough to cause burning and anguish in all unholy creatures upon which it shone. That such flames would have some slight negative effects on their own allies seemed to have either slipped their minds or were deliberately ignored. Religions from the absolute royal federation were often very picky about creatures that had died and their right to exist.

The infantrymen in their dark blue uniforms quickly reached their designated positions, as they had not advanced very far and they threw themselves behind cover. Their rifles started to spit led as they acquired targets and their machineguns stated to chatter away. Behind them once again war horns roared and more men started to advance, they were quickly pushing past their friends and advancing under the new covering positions captured. What rifles could not flush out flamethrowers, grenades, swords, and bayonets quickly took care of. Once their covers were acquired, horns blasted and people started to advance. The deadly game of leapfrogs that Scanderans thrived in were afot as the push had started to cleanse the city from all filthy foemen that would even dare to stand up to the royal guardsmen.

[Allanea]

[composed jointly with the player of High Treefolk]

Leyfield, Sovereign Duchy of Leyfield, Alexander’s office

Alexander stared worriedly at the maps that surrounded him - half a dozen maps, projected holographically into the air around his desk. This was the only way to keep track of the different events that were now enveloping the country. Bright red dots blinked on the maps, each dot standing for a conflagration of some kind - sea monster attacks in the Greater Prussian sea, Deep Ones attacking Innsmouth, Kurzweil Province ablaze under the feet of the Phyrexian legions, Amroth attacked by Chaosites, aberrations from other planes striking in Liberty-City. Other dots, too, blinked, so many now that it would be difficult for a single mind to keep up with them.

His wife, he knew, was even now in Kurzweil, sword in hand, driving the creations of Yawgmoth before her. His beloved disciples were now spread throughout the country, some fighting the various monstrous creatures, others planning evacuations and defenses. None of this, he realized, was a solution. These people were putting out fires, darting to and fro with fire extinguishers and buckets as more and more flames licked the fabric that was Allanea. Something better had to be done. Something smarter.

He needed to speak to a scientist, of course.

He put his hand on his phone - a large, silvery device, that could only be wielded comfortably by someone with fingers as long and nimble as his. He began to dial, not bothering with formalities, directly to his friend’s personal number.

“Good day, oh Great Star of Morning,” - he started, his voice sounding lighter than the situation would perhaps entail. “We are having some trouble.” - Millions of people were dead. “Your expertise is required.”

“It has entered our attention that an ethereal shift is responsible for the passages into Phyrexia, and the Gathering is intimately familiar with such incursions. It has been many millennia since the threat was once posed by what we called ‘Jade Passages’ which lead into the realm of what we once called Pandemonium. It has once been a problem for Treefolken in a long bygone age, but our secrets were not passed to the Mysidians or Alteans. Altea survived to this day, but Mysidia did not. It was a magically superior nation with great scholarship comparatively to the Alteans, but it was perhaps their greatest weakness.” A feminine voice whispered as a shaded figure on the other side of the screen vaguely resembled the silhouette of a maple tree, but as the words were spoken it appeared to move. Leaves crinkled, branches cracked and the form met the appearance of the Allanean and became physically anthropomorphic, the voice clearer, rich with a warmth and depth like rich brown sugar. “After all, it is the way of my people to reach a balance between what is supramundane, and what is mundane, and with these gifts of temperance we are able to pass unseen for eons, few even realizing we are there. We shall teach you, Brother Allaneans, how to hide from the agents of Phyrexia, we will teach you how to sense the changes in aetheric resonance, and we will teach you to seal the Jade Passage-”

“Woah, woah, woah!” - Alexander said, raising both hands defensively. “I think you are underestimating the scale of the fuckery that is ongoing.. Vastly.” - he paused. “We have had portals open into Yawgmoth’s Phyrexia, and so much is true. But, unfortunately, the situation is graver than that would imply.” - and a Dark God awakening and attacking the nation was already pretty grave - “We have had portals to all sorts of evil realms. Our Hell Patrol has also had to stop functioning. We’ve had our own evils - the megafauna dwelling in some of the Liberty-City suburbs - awaken and become more vicious. In short, every sort of khuynya [RUS. - cockery], every manner of fractal malfunction. We’ve just had to suppress Cthulhu with nuclear weapons fire. This should suggest to you the sheer scale and complexity of the shit we are now finding ourselves knee-deep in. It’d be fair to compare us to, say, a South Altean guano miner.”

She let out a sweet laugh, musical and yet without even a minute fragment of joy or amusement. “The Alteans were once much more different in scale as well. There was once a time Mysidia and Altea were allies against the much greater threat of Pandemonium. It was they who had problems in a far greater scale than you have, Brother. In Altea shit stacks high.” Her small limber branches skittered back into what appeared to be tapping fingertips, and she smirked, facial features becoming more apparent. “You are aware the Altean Empire and Mysidia once spanned stars, and navigated the Star Sea, right? And I don't mean what the Easterners call the star sea. I mean The Star Sea, the void of space where few ever reach, and fewer ever conquer. Great Civilizations fail in the face of Pandemonium, as it is known by my family to be the Realm of the Warring Gods. It is from these tears into the fabric of the veil of Zaiden rather than an open passage that there continues to be any form of civilization at all.”

She reached for a glass of water and poured it through a cloth in front of her, and the water splashed upon the table. “Imagine demons flooding endlessly through rips into reality, something far beyond anything you experienced. Imagine infrastructure entirely collapsing, nations falling, and corrupting until they practically forgot who they were. This was the Ethereal Shift. it brought with it not just entire nations like your own to our attention, but those like Phyrexia and Imeriata. They cleared from the mist seeming like they had always been a part of our world. But in truth they had not.” She placed her fingertips in the water and the water began to change color and turned into the consistency of blood. “Oh yes, I know the gravity, Brother. It is why I suggest we get moving while we still have a world to speak of.” Ayliah let the water vanish into smoke as she blew it aside. “Are you aware of its cause, as we are? We have passed through eons unscathed, and here we are. Do you want our help?”

“Well, given the fact I have actually started this conversation by asking for your help, yes, I do want your help,” - Alexander said, ignoring the insult to his allies the Imerians for a moment. “The cause is known, yes. See, the cause is people acting like three-year-olds with world-shattering fucking artefacts that’s what the fucking cause is. Some terrorist Planeswalker who has a beef with the Olweans has opened Pandora’s Box.” - he paused. “Yes, the Pandora’s Box. And of course this has caused a world-scale fuckup with all the sanity and reason of a gas fire in a doppleganger brothel, and in response, the Olweans, being pillars of sanity and reason, have touched off the Horn of Valere, which is an artefact that rends the fabric of reality to summon heroes of past and present.” - he paused. “And of course every evil group and organization you can care to name is trying to capitalize on this wonderful moment in history, casting rituals to their Dark Gods, summoning Cthulhu, sacrificing to Shub-Niggurath, the whole nine yards. I believe if you can visualize a fire in a doppleganger brothel during a flash-flood you can have the metaphor of the events in your mind quite nicely.”

“Hoh hoh hoh! Then it is precisely like Pandemonium itself.” Ayliah indicated. “Okay, then it is our moment to shine in the face of despair, instead of those wiry humans, this time, we will be able to bring light to the darkness. Time is short. We must assemble campaigns for the artifacts of the Goddess and we can bring forth her glory while still holding to our principles.” She waved her hands and grinned, “FOOOORRR… A price. The Allaneans have earned free aid, but the Imerians can surrender to the abyss.”

Alexander stared for a moment, but said simply: “You are a signatory of an alliance with the Imerians and the Allaneans. It is through this alliance that you are now free, and a leader of your nation. It is through this alliance that instead of being patrolled now by foreign troops, Treefolk expanded its territory by hundreds of thousands of square miles. It is through Greater Prussian funding - paid in part by the Imerians you so claim to despise - that your freedom and the freedom of your friends has been purchased. I have not asked for any aid for the Imerians, but I am making it clear, Ayliah: they have aided you with their wallet.” - he paused. “The chief issue that we face, however, is closing the portals that threaten Allanea itself. Should we close these, our armies will have the freedom of maneuver and logistic lift to help our allies who require our assistance.”

“Wallets are as wallets are, and ours hungers for compensation by Imerians, but arbitration of these problems can wait, you are right. We will handle that another time, now we must take the plunge into sealing the veil. You will need concentrated resources to do this, let us begin. In order to seal the portals, we shall scout. Our people see all that dreamers see. Short of scraping an area barren of every stalk of grass, we will watch. Then, we will map the areas where the Aether is excessively high, measurements of over 1.0097 mmNe will need to be broken through and sealed by Type Nulls. Do you know of their kind?”

“I know of their kind, but they are rare in my country. Conversely we could try and use some manner of dispelling spells, or Dweomerite - which is as you know is a null-magic material - based on your instructions, until nulls can be located. Alternately we can use Hestian towers to try and filter away the magical power.”

“This is not as strong as the power of type nulls. Might I recommend we hire a few consecrators? They are a useful bunch. As well as getting a plan, we will work on Mana dispersal on a grander scale, but the trouble is with finding what are tears, and what are passages. Tears can be resealed, passages have to be rebuilt entirely. For that we need paragons.”

“What resources do you need?” - said Alexander - “What do I need to have set up for your people?”

“Shrubbery.” The Treefolken woman said unblinking. “We need eyes and ears. Get planting” she chuckled as she clapped her hands to get an enormous mace and then directed seedlings like an army of ants responding to their queen. “Wha you mean me? I want coffee, and from your finest beaneries. We can't be dependent on the Easterners for coffee.”

“Very well. I shall meet you for a coffee in Liberty-City’s park, then.” - Alexander said.

Several hours later and several thousand miles away, Liberty City Main Park

It should be said here, for the benefit of our erstwhile readers, that Allaneans were in some ways really bad at designing parks. The Main Park was no exception to this rule - it was simply far too big, in some countries it would have qualified as a forest than as a park. Some parts of it were thus ill-maintained, some overgrown and dirty. A river, and several canals, ran through the park. In normal times, couples would be paddling on them in small kayaks and rowboats. Today, a small Navy speedboat instead was visible, its machineguns aimed upwards.

In the middle of the park’s largest clearing was a large, dark-bronze statue of Mary Shelley, seated on a massive chair on a green malachite pedestal. On a small folding chair at the bottom of this pedestal was, of course, Emperor Alexander himself, holding in one hand a half-liter metal mug filled with the blackest and strongest coffee he could find. A thermos, and two more mugs, were located at his feet, as he waited.

Seedlings began to cluster around the statue, moving around like steady ant traffic, the Treefolken seedlings also began to slowly rise to particular spaces, and clumped into tufts in the sunny areas, and the roots clenched down and they were still as a meadow, simply blustering with each breath of wind. A seedling then began to rapidly sprout and shoot upward, as if watching a speed cut time lapse video, and it began to spread out a wide trunk and foliage spread and fell numerous times, as if it was growing with each sound.

“Alexander.” That familiar voice whispered. “We have a lot of work to do.” A sprig of branches cracked as they reached for the coffee.

“That is quite true.” - Alexander said. For a moment, he considered pouring a mug for Ayliah, but then he handed her the entire thermos. The coffee was perhaps not the best for a gourmand’s palate, but exceptionally strong and bitter, with only a touch of sugar.

Through the park, men and women were hurrying to the clearing. They were wizards, but most weren’t dressed as wizards are expected to dress. Some wore green uniforms, and others - light-blue work clothes. These were warrior-mages and researchers with the military and the Ministry of War. Others were civilian volunteers, who were raised on short notice by Alexander - som in work clothes, others in simple denim, and only a few in the flowing robes that are often associated with wizard kind.

Several of the wizards dragged behind them wheeled trolley bags, of the kind so often used by overburdened tourists and attorneys. Following behind them were aides, assistants, apprentices, and even robots, pushing ahead an array of boxes and crates, some of hard plastic, others of metal, similar to those used by traveling bands for their musical instruments.

“As you see,” - Alexander said, as he handed Ayliah her thermos, “we have more spell components than you could shake your branches at.”

It was then that he looked in concern at his phone, and said. “Ayliah, I am terribly sorry. I am placing you in command of this operation. I need to be going. There is another matter, one of grave Imperial security implications, to attend to.”

[Allanea]

[composed with assistance from the player High Treefolk]

Liberty-City

Over the evening skies of Liberty-City, there was a flash of bright light. For a second, the air defense volunteers watching the skies blinked, as the actinic, photograph-like light burst across all they could see. Men squinted at the radiant, pure light, rubbing their eyes with their hands. Then the light was no more - but instead of the dark-blue of the evening skies, there was something new. A fog, glowing softly in a myriad underscribable colors, descended slowly onto the city. As it did, ghostly music played - like the sounds of a wind harp playing, just on the edge of hearing, and yet audible everywhere in the city - in the homes, in the offices, even in the bomb shelters deep underground, where some families hid away from the regular Phyrexian attacks for their safety.

In the mountains that stood guard over Liberty-City from the South, in the sea from its North the purple Phyrexian portals vibrated, and then closed. The fog receded, and the music did as well - but there was a sensation that it was not completely gone, that it lingered somewhere in the cool, evening air.

Minutes later, there was a long, long siren, piercing men to the bone, audible everywhere.

The all-clear siren.

Several hours later

Freemen of Allanea. - the voice said, over thousands of emergency loudspeakers around the country, military radios, official state websites, and so forth. It was a voice that all Freebeings recognized instantly. The calm, measured voice of the Emperor of Greater Prussia. They could not know where he was now - whether at Leyfield, of Minas-Faerie, or on the front. This is your King speaking. I have now final confirmation that our Treefolken allies have accomplished, through their magical skills and cooperation with our mages, a way to stabilize locally the part of the fractal anomaly affecting our nation. On the mainland, this already has been implemented.

There was a pause. No, this does not mean the war is over. It does not mean the world is not embroiled in trouble and mayhem. It does not even mean that we will no longer face attack. But the cursed portals that open over our heads daily will be no longer. In our cities, in our homes, in our streets, Freemen will be able to live, and work, and celebrate, without fear that an abomination will snatch their children.

On the outskirts of Rio de Janeiro, Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky heard the broadcast in the cramped interior of a command truck, where she was conferring with her generals, living and undead. She stood up from her seat, not waiting for her husband’s voice to fall away into silence, her gloved hands resting on the edge of the desk.

“Men!” - she called out, her voice like a battle-trumpet. “Give the signal! Now is the time!”

The movement of the masses of troops was visible even from orbit. Hundreds of thousands men, monsters, vehicles sped forward, into the very gap left in the Phyrexian lines by the Sterkistani attack.

Across the dead, broken-up bodies left by the fusion explosion, zombie marksmen walked calmly, emotionlessly, firing their elderly rifles in volleys. Gholgunners, unliving contraptions melding men and machine, walked cumbersomely over the piles of the enemy dead, their weapons clattering as they swept the field. Behind them, the other warriors walked and drove, the ones possessing a spirit - humans, Orcs, and countless others, some driving on vehicles, others riding on monsters. Giant spiders, taller than a house, walked between the ravaged trees, their mandibles grabbing Phyrexian warriors from the ground and chewing them while they screamed in terror.

There was also another sort of horror prepared for the Phyrexians, a technological one. Armored vehicle crawled forward, their tracks whirring mercilessly, bone, wood, armor crunching under them as they as pushed forwards. Their turret guns moved, like the noses of hungry animals sniffing the air for prey. Sometimes, they fired, mighty battle tanks shaking on their treads with recoils, air defense cannon roaring with hate as they brought their guns to bear on ground fire.

In the skies, the Phyrexian fliers faced enemies from all sides. Allanean dragons and fighter jets from the sides, Sterkistani aerospace craft from below, air defense weapons from below.

Like a mighty hammer, the Dark Army smashed into the Phyrexians and drove them South-East, to the city - where Allaneans, Imerians, and Greater Prussian troops from all nations waited already.

....it is in the hour of darkest need that alliances are tested. In this hour of darkness, our allies, even some nations with whom we had no alliance at all, offered us aid and protection. Menelmacari, Reichksamphenites, Imerians, Treefolken, Idoan, C’tani and Sterkistani have offered us aid. Without the fire of Menelmacari plasma lances, the heroism of volunteers from nations around the world, the wisdom of Treefolken scientists, it would be harder for us to win. But win we will.

Primorsky Krai, Allanean Old Russia

Like hunting hounds let loose from their leash, the armies stream south. Dozens of helicopters, bombers, fighter jets scream overhead, passing over the endless Ussurian woods, and a hail of bombs trails from their bomb bays, onto the Phyrexian armies. Missiles, rockets of every kind come screaming down on the enemy’s position, dozens of square miles of forest are enveloped suddenly with flame.

Cutting across the Ussuri river like a runner tears a finishing ribbon, elderly Russian tanks and modern Allanean war machines moving at once. The burned out trees crackled under them. As if by order, several bright flags rose over the turrets of the lead tanks - the battle-banners of divisions and regiments.

Together, we will secure our country. We will protect our allies. And eventually, we will free our forces up to help our neighbors, and put an end to this upheaval. No, it is not the end. There are still many hard battles ahead us, many losses, many days of terrible mourning. But I, Alexander Blaken-Kazansky, Emperor of Greater Prussia, King of Allanea, tell you this: Our cause is just. Our enemies will be defeated. Victory shall be ours.

[Olwe]

Suggested soundtrack: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=i7d0Lm_31BE

Unknown location

Mandos snapped awake suddenly. He had planned only to meditate, not nap, and it was therefore strange that someone with his impeccable control would lose consciousness. He quickly scanned his unfamiliar surroundings, taking stock of the red curtains walling off the room on all sides, the immaculately clean white floor with black chevron markings, and the short, grizzled man sitting on a couch facing him.

The man was speaking, but Mandos couldn't make out the words... he was pronouncing them strangely, making them only barely recognizeable as Common. "What?" Mandos asked, straining to hear the reply.

"Is it future, or is it past?" the strange man said.

"Both," Mandos replied.

The man's eyes widened for a moment, then he nodded as if in satisfaction. "The arm wants to talk with you," he said, standing up and making a beckoning motion. "Come."

Mandos got up, and followed as the man parted and stepped through the scarlet curtains. The arm? he thought confusedly, though he said nothing.

War room, Nariel, Olwe

Fans made from the fronds of tropical trees gently but effectively circulated air, providing a reprieve from the notoriously oppressive Olwean heat. A Skiploom hovered in one corner, its flower fully open, suggesting that the outside temperature was at least 90 degrees Fahrenheit. It was readily obvious why dress codes were banned in Olwe, and even foreigners unaware of this custom could probably forgive Empress Trasta Greenleaf for wearing a bikini while she ran the country, especially if they knew that this was the most modest suit she owned. "What's our status?" she asked.

High General Magnus Wansor's holographic image flickered slightly. Behind him lower ranking personnel could be seen running back and forth, sometimes actively fighting... Magnus's reputation for wanting to be close to the action was well deserved, and he had to shout to be heard over the sounds of combat. "WE'VE SECURED NARIEL AND ARE MOVING EAST," he said. "THE ZOMBIE SITUATION HAS MOSTLY BEEN CONTAINED."

"Then who are your men shooting at?" Trasta asked.

"NICKSYLLVANIANS," Magnus said, and then spat. "THEY'RE FORKING EVERYWHERE!"

"Do you require reinforcements?" she asked.

"NOT AT THIS TIME," he replied.

"Then good luck, Magnus. Kill a few Nickies for me," she said before turning to another hologram.

"The ocean," the woman in the hologram, High Admiral Caretta Devincenzi, said, "is not currently in the mood to cooperate. Multiple kraken encounters have occurred, and a tsunami just wiped out nearly a whole carrier group before heading toward Murakami."

Trasta nodded sadly... the infamous Murakami Tsunami was the worst natural disaster in Olwean history, and had been expected to repeat itself. An evacuation order had gone out, so hopefully the death toll would be much lower this time around. "Keep at it," she said. "Those krakens are our highest naval priority. Aerospace?"

High Commander Kevin Reiff shrugged. "So far there haven't been that many severe aerospace threats," he said. "A few rocs, a drake here and there, nothing like what Caretta's facing. My people are in good position to offer her support, actually."

"Then do so until your situation changes," Trasta said. "Any calls for aid from our allies?"

Minister Of Foreign Affairs Andrea Gallo glanced briefly at his datapad. "Allanea, Zuni, Dyste, and The Rhythm Nation are the hardest hit outside of Olwe," he said. "We've deployed what forces we can spare, but due to our own troubles of course aren't able to offer that much in the way of assistance."

"All right," Trasta said. "Everyone keep me posted. I need to meet with the Zunite president and ambassador, then convene a full cabinet meeting, then I should be available again."

The House Of Lore, Nariel

It was complete chaos inside Medwyn's office. All manner of people, not all of them Human, some not even recognizable, had suddenly appeared out of thin air. And Jason had been struck by a random but worrisome thought... if the Horn had just been blown now, then why had he encountered himself and another Medwyn outside not 15 minutes ago? He expressed this concern to Medwyn, but it was another voice who answered.

"I've been thinking about that," Mandos spoke up from behind Jason. "If the space-time continuum is as badly damaged as we believe it is, then it might be falling apart at the seams. It's entirely possible that random ruptures could occur anywhere at any time, completely unrelated to either Horn or Box."

"Well, that's just forking wonderful," Jason grunted.

"Indeed," Mandos said. "It appears I have much work to do." With that, he left the office.

[Skarr]

Warzone Faenoring
Amras

Launch bay gamma was a storm of activity. Repurposed earthmoving machines and galvanic servo-haulers moved to and fro; carrying, clearing; moving scrap, debris, and broken machinery. Some they set aside for the hanger-serfs and tech-priest to sort through and repurpose with the rites of salvage. Others, they simply tossed into the exposed void. Slaves and hauler servitors moved with melta-cutters, crude auspex, and loading chains. They were constantly followed by the bite of electro-whips carried by their overseers. No matter how fast they moved they could not avoid their wrath, Lord Terminus was an exacting overlord and was not one to ever be satisfied with current efficiency.

“Speak the name of the machine! Cast the first vile upon its shell!” The Warpsmith droned. The Furnace Master’s armor growled like an idle engine and strange exhaust fumes smoked from his backpack. His voice was amplified through his vox grill and channeled through dozens of dirge casters. He stood upon a raised walkway towards the massive craft hanging by chains in front of him. They rattled as the massive lander was lifted by work gangs of heaving servitor-lifters and clanking gears, the latter powered by augmented chaos spawn. A ring of tech-priest stood around the lander, chanting a binaric ritual of binding and invocation. Somewhere, something glasslike broke upon the landing crafts hull.

Machines, it was said, had souls. Every machine had a soul. Within the hearts of human mechanisms dwelled the echoes of a legacy of advancement, when the ancestors of the Imperium had first entrusted artificial intelligence with the ability of reason and were later laid low by their own folly. What had taken the place of Silica Animus’ was something developed later to fulfill a strict doctrine; to avoid repeating history. A combination of organic and technological components to lessen the divide between man and machine. Some called this a Machine-Spirit. The Mechanicum had learned more since then, the Quest for Knowledge was never truly over after all. Even away from the stagnating dogma of the False Omnissiah, there was still a universe of possibility and knowledge to explore and exploit.

The stormbird Deliverer of Darkness had a soul and it was indignant. It had been one of many landing craft wounded by an unfortunate missile strike that had caused widespread damage throughout the landing bay. It had been torn it from its cradle, and as it was attended to by various tech-magi and machine-wrights its spirit had to be mollified even as its physical shell was repaired. Its spirit had always been a prideful and bellicose one, and time in the warp had only invited new idiosyncrasies to it.

Terminus smashed the butt of his halberd to the ground thrice, he spoke again, “By the blood of the fallen you are bound, by the nine invocations of desolation and the seven invocations of defilement you are awakened, accept this sacrifice!” Servitors bound into the metal gantries near the ceiling screamed in binaric rites of summoning. Tubes built into their forms filled with unholy lubricants and Black blood spilled from open wounds made in their throats, they sprinkled like light rain upon the lander’s hull. Within, machine-serfs worked with runes and levers, mollifying distressed systems, normalizing settings, and carrying out internal repair work. Outside, machine-writes welded, sealed, and repaired with sparking tools. Coolant steam hissed at random intervals, leaving the air hazy with smoke.

“Your second name I invoke, Kar’vaul’dhao! Break the ninth seal!” He spoke once more. Within, the machine-acolytes spoke the final incantations of invocation and activated runes of awakening, feeding power into the machine-creature’s heart. A firm kinetic blow was applied to the central control board.

Silence was the only answer the machine gave. Its supplicants muttered to each other, perhaps the spirit was still aggrieved. Would another sacrifice be required? Terminus screeched a scrap-code incantation, invoking the machines name again. This binaric lash was harsher, technology was meant to serve and the warpsmith did not wish to indulge the spirits whims any longer.

Deliverer of Darkness roared through its engine heart in response. Gangways extended to its loading doors allowing machine-wrights to filter out, they did not wish to test the engines patience.

A tech-priest, all mechadendrite and beady green eyes showing through her robes bowed. “It hungers lord Terminus.”

The warpsmith did not answer at first. Such a thing was normal. Terminus cast his eyes across the launch bay. A symphony of logistics played before him. The roar of engines filled the air as a wing of doomfire bombers shot forward on their launch rails alongside hell-talon escorts to perform another bombing run. Churning pistons and daemonic roars clanked and bellowed as a line of maulerfiends and defiler daemon engines were herded into the gaping maw of a devourer dropship. Other engines, helbrutres and decimators roared and thrashed, bound in warp-forged chains.

The deck rumbled. A constant pounding sensation that drilled its way into every soldier, worker, and slaves’ ears. The Realm Breaker bombardment had been ceaseless the moment they made for optimal range of Amras. Terminus could imagine the staccato roar of macro-weapon and bombardment cannon tearing through the gun-decks to unleash death upon the world below. Each blow of devastation a sacrifice, each monument of death a mechanism that fed the might of the warp.

Soon the true war would be at hand.

“Have Deliver of Darkness ready to launch from landing bay four. Inform the crew of Hell’s Cradle they have three minutes to depart. Any who are found remaining will be charged with desertion.” Terminues addressed the tech-priest, letting the threat and the obvious consequences linger.

The priest’s response was a flurry of movement from its mechadendrites, manipulators dancing upon data-pads and manipulating odd machinery built into her form. Steam hissed out of a power-pack built into her back, and a strange cog imbedded in her skull grinded and clanked as it was hand turned, “Hell’s Cradle is currently loading several squadrons of greater engines my lord. With all do respect it will-“

“Five minutes. No more. Tell me of the other units” Terminus calmly replied. Already he was walking to next machine that required his attentions, the tech-priest hobbling behind him. A group of loxatl mercenaries sputtered and hissed as they scattered away from his path. Slaves and overseers bowed or exposed their necks at his passing. He paid none of them any mind.

“The Iron-Mongers and the Furosian Chem-Hunters are ready to deploy my lord. The 23rd armor is nearly finished loading and- What?“ The underling’s ramblings suddenly stopped. Emergency klaxons blared and the noosphere became crowded with new orders and emergency signals.

Terminus queried reports from the noosphere, biting down his irritation at the interruption. Pict captures and status reports fed into his senses.

The data he was receiving beggared disbelief. Slaves and workers ceased in their toils as vox casters blared emergency warnings and klaxons continued to howl.

Terminus’ first act was to draw his bolter and shoot the first man he saw in the face. He could not be sure whether the man was a slave or overseer. He did not care.

“What are you waiting for!?” He growled, his armor snarled in sympathy and smoke rose from pipes built into his servo-harness “Attend to your duties! Faster!” He fired several more shots for good measure, each aimed deliberately poor. The wretches fled, others fearfully returned to their tasks, muttered prayers hoping the warpsmith did not deem them worthy of his attentions.

Terminus turned back to tech-priest, anger built into his form like slow heating steel “Inform Hell’s Cradle they have less than a minute to depart.” He ordered.

The tech-priest fidgeted with its augments for a moment before replying “Lord Acheron is ordering all deploying ground forces to continue the assault. Orbital support is unlikely.”

“Then it will be done. By the Dark Powers it will be done.” Terminus growled, he stalked towards the newly repaired Deliver of Darkness with haste.

---

Captain Alcrax’s form twitched and shuddered within his steel casket. Physically, he could feel little since he demanded his machine-adepts to bless him with the most intrusive of augments. Black steel cables ran across his form, a hive of input-ports and mind impulse units connected him with the systems of his vessel. He was the ship and the ship was him. His plasma core was a caged star that was his beating heart, his weapons batteries and lances his limbs, and the thousands of creatures that dwelled within his form his blood.

An Allanean vessel, flaming and breaking apart, was the focus of his attentions. Again, and again he gutted it. Lances, plasma batteries, and missiles roaring through the vibration felt within his form, this was his voice. Scrap-Code screeching filled the chamber where his casket dwelled, a binaric battle-cry of slaughter.

The enemy vessel spilled what passed for its lifeblood in the void. Its guns fell silent and it was left drifting to plunge into Amras’ atmosphere.

Alcrax growled, terminals and data-shrines flashed and sparked in sympathy, “More targets! Augurs, escorts, find me another target!”

Another vessel, this one fat with flesh and souls, an evacuation ship most likely was the next to feel his attentions. Missiles streaked ahead through the void towards it, macro-cannon and lances from his escorts raged against the enemy vessels willing to risk their lives for the sake of the weak.

Ships burned. The death toll of Amras rose.

“More… More… MORE!” Alcrax screamed, “Another, find me more, siege augurs, give eyes on orbital defenses, give me-”

“Captain, we have augur returns coming from beyond the first picket line. Enemy reinforcements most likely.” A tech-priest screeched through its augmented voice. The man, what once was a man perhaps, was connected to its station by thick black cables and MUI links.

Alcrax could not physically grin, but excitement coursed through his form none the less, “Excellent, augurs, sight targets and… and…”

This couldn’t be right.

Thousands of kilometers away, approaching the fleet rapidly was simply something that could not exist. Alcrax dedicated every cogitator and scanner he could. His augments propelled his mind to think at a speed far beyond those ignorant to the ways of the Mechanicum. Precious nanoseconds were spent taking in the details of this new vector of attack. Its form was something not heard of since the wars of long lost Orpheus.

Rapidly approaching the fleet was the collected matter of dead stars, each with the mass of several worlds. One could be devastating, the barrage approaching was beyond that.

“Take evasive action.” It was too late. “High energy turn, all power to engines! By the Powers do som-“

There was light, heat, and for a moment a million errors and damage reports filtered into Captain Alcrax’s mind before he felt no more.

---

Blood of the Ruinous Ones...

By the Dark Gods…

Unholy shit!

These and a million other curses passed between ships as the C’tani assault made itself known. The Realm Breaker was the first to die, though it died a slow death. It was in no position to take advantage of its maneuverability as it closed in on the helpless world ahead. The first glancing blow of the attack signaled its death knell.

In that death was a poison, however. It’s flaming mass broke apart slowly piece by piece in orbit. Internal explosions pockmarking its hull as systems went critical. Landers and drop pods shot out from its hangars like insects from a hive. They shot down to the world below, braving the storm despite all risks. Some would make it down, others would not no doubt. The C’tani likely had experience in how cavalier the Archenemy could be with the lives of its minions. Troopships closest to the planet made desperate runs to release their landing-craft or simply reach low orbit, fat bulk transport maneuvering in ways they were never meant to. The orbit of Amras hosted the charred and broken remains of those craft that failed. Other ships ran silently, slinking away to the systems edge, hoping their commanders would be in a forgiving mood later.

For all the risks, the Chaos fleet seemed to cling to Amras like a barbed hook. Though few vessels could find themselves able to continue sustained bombardment of the surface. Any landing force would find themselves with little orbital support while the war in the void was still hot. There was also the C’tani weapon to consider as well.

Ships danced. Weaving between the racing fragments of dead stars, taking full advantage of the vastness of space. Void shields shifted field harmonics to shield themselves from the gravitic storm as best they could, engines flared as vessels raced closer to Amras. A debatable strategy perhaps, but it seemed the warhost was pressed for time.

It was not without incident, not every ship could escape the C’tani wrath. Broken and atomized vessels were left in the warhost’s wake in their rush towards the planet.

In their flight however, they left behind traps. Mines were left liberally in their path. Many would be destroyed, perhaps by the C’tani weapon or simply by mine sweeping craft as they approached but they were not the only defenses being deployed.

Amras was a graveyard of Allanean and God-sworn ship alike. A vast debris field had begun to form, made from the corpses of ships on both sides. In these many Chaos ships sought cover from the C’tani attack, more importantly, they used the brief respite to deploy other weapons. Many such ship-graves were seeded with dead-fall torpedoes, massive anti-ship missiles that would lie in wait for an enemy vessel to approach before launching, hidden among the debri fields, they would be difficult to detect, their own minuscule auspex signatures blended with countless others. Some of these devices were programmed to allow one or perhaps two ships to pass before their war-spirits awakened, adding a layer of unpredictability to each field.

Through all this, the fleet began to reorganize itself near Amras. While the Necron fleet was closing, they briefly retained the advantage. The first volleys of lance and macro-weapons fire targeting the Necron outriders, escorts and forward cruisers. Meanwhile, strike cruisers and battlebarges were not idle. Though they could not commit to any sustained bombardment, the brief attack runs they made towards the world below allowed them to launch thunderhawks and stormbirds, rapid deployments were something of a forte for Astartes, corrupt or otherwise.

Now in the void, the second battle of Amras was truly joined. Meanwhile down on the world below, landers air-dropped void-shielded bastions and powered on internal compression rams. Within, the warriors of Chaos prepared to plunder a new world. They would endure the storm for a time, as the temperature dropped and the world shuddered in pain. Tanks groaned in their moors and daemonic engines struggled in their chains. Blood chants began to fill the vox.

Now the true war came...

[Sterkistan]

Allanean Warzone
Sterkian Forces

---

The Hounds landed first, spearheaded by a squad of A-10's garnered quite appropriately in flame paint up their entire bodies. They coiled their powerful legs for landing as the supports fell away. And as the smoke cleared, they were given the green light for contact.
"This is Hound command, all units are cleared for contact of Phrexians bearing BF3021." The communications channel clicked.
"You heard the man, stick it to 'em!" Elipsis Lead shouted across his vocoder, in a rallying cry.
The A-10's approached the Phyrexians as more Hounds, as well as Marines and ships entered the contact zone.
"Weapons hot." Was the unanimous cry across the combat channel. And the A-10's in the lead unfolded their miniguns into firing position before raining deadly destruction on their disorented forces, the high calibre rounds splitting apart any hostiles they touched. While the other Hounds raged onto the battlefield.

Warrant Officer Paglo was right at the front of the mess, his deployment pod had struck a Phyrexian flyer and veered into the no mans land. Fortunately, he was equipped with the tools for this job; a Grenade Launcher with enough ammunition to besiege a fully-stocked fort , and a flamethrower fitted with a oxygen-fuel converter. So he started spraying the encroaching hostiles to hell, either with a boom or turning them to ash, his pod had automatically deployed a retrieval signal upon getting thrown off course, so he knew he had to wait a few more minutes for help.
Paglo continued the onslaught, despite all the ammunition he had it wouldn't last forever, and they never seemed to stop coming. And as they got to the critical point of overrunning his position, his knights in shining armour came to his rescue. A gunship spun itself sideways just behind his position, the door gunner spraying deadly fire on the Phyrexians to cover Paglos hasty retreat to the waiting gunship, Earths lighter gravity making it easy for Paglo to leap the 30-40 feet in the air to the Gunship before firing a group of cluster missiles and making their way toward the front lines.

---

Fleet General: Kersid Mertal
In Geo-stationary Orbit above Earth

"Strike cannons are ready to fire, awaiting ground geo-map." The gunner announced hastily.
"Get that go-map up then, we can't be missing these shots." Mertal responded.

On the ground a Marine strike team got the order, and they loaded a rocket launcher with the probe. Sprinting out past the front lines under the cover of friendly suppressive fire. And they aimed the launcher straight up in the air, taking a crouched position and firing. The green probe soared up past the skyline, and upon reaching its apex, flashed a bright green light that encompassed the battlefield before plummeting back to Earth. The strike team leader gave the all green signal, and the team ran back to friendly lines.

The Navigator gave the gunner the all clear, and he began assigning targets to hit with the support strike cannons, now they knew where buildings, obstacles and enemy encampments were located. So they rained hell on the enemy, blasting any points of value with the supportive cannons before they marked the big targets.

A Reperis entered the Bridge of the capital cruiser, "Sir, we have a problem. I am sensing multiple time fractures and deviations, I fear that Asset Prime has been opened."
Mertal sat back in his chair, sighing, "Any official word?"
"Sir, the return of the Leviathans should be evidence enough, they've been extinct for generations. I'm sure an official statement to hunt Prime and the being that opened it will come within a day" The Reperis continued, "Worst case scenario, the Neo-Reclusians abuse the power, find a way to bring their best pilots to life again, possibly even entire armies. In that situation we can either abuse the power ourselves, possibly worsening the rift or take our chances with what we've got available."
Merkel tapped on his wrist pad, "You're completely certain?"
"As certain as I can be sir, our elders sensed this occurance millenia ago, and they bestowed upon the Reperis the ability to manipulate time and space to a degree, but I fear this is far worse than they imagined. As we speak wanderers have been dispatched to locate Asset Prime and whoever opened it, and destroy both if required."
Mertal sat for a moment, "For now, we should stay and fight for the territories of Earth against their own threats, allies are our best option in this scenario. So, prepare a broadcast to the people of Earth, that we are willing to assist in fighting off these invaders from other times and dimensions. And that we are doing everything we can to track down the Asset."

[Allanea]

Surface of Amras

There are no words. There is only fury.

Delightful fury, rage, filling the battle-brother’s body with renewed vigour, as if he was young once more, as if his body had not been corrupted by millenia of treason. The hammer in his right hand swings so swiftly that the air around it whistles, and the man it impacts flies back, ribs smashing and crunching as if they were mere matchsticks. The battle-brother strikes again, this time his hammer smashes into the wall, making his passage into the room next door.

There are men and women there, civilians perhaps. Somehow they have survived the carnage of the orbital bombardment and the arrival of the Necron ship. Was their intent to fight him? Had they abandoned their bomb shelter to flee elsewhere? Cennias does not ask himself these questions. It is irrelevant. The hammer comes down on one of the Allaneans in front of him, breaking the man like a twig, his skull shattering and spine snapping, spine fragments protruding through his shirt as he falls to the ground. On the up-swing, the hammer catches the man’s wife in the chin, blood and blonde hair splattering on what was the bedroom floor.

Cennias notices too late he had turned his back on another one - a young one, maybe their son. In a fluid motion, the young man unsheathes a weapon, a small chemenergic pistol and fires it, again and again, into the Marine’s back. There is no effect. Only an annoying clatter as dozens of bullets impact, and then the Marine turns with his whole torso, swinging the hammer with incredible swiftness. The blow lifts the young man off his feet, throwing him against the wall.

The last survivor shrieks, a long, high-pitched scream of pain and desperation. The family with which she had lived for all her conscious life has been butchered within less than five seconds, the things that she had known as Father, Mother, Uncle, Brother turned from human beings into barely recognizable physical objects.

The Battle Brother grabs her by the throat with his free hand, and then shakes her. There is a crack as her vertebrae give way, and then she falls to the ground like a broken doll. Her body makes a squishing, squelching sounds as the Chaos warrior steps on her on his way out to the lawn.

Not enough targets.

*

The ancient one steps forth.

Millenia of hatred have fueled him.

Centuries of murder have spilled forth from his guns.

He is the anger and the storm.

He is the blood-rust on the blade.

He is the contempt and the derision.

He is Barachiel Godcleaver.

He laughs, as his assault cannon vibrate his whole body, clattering with a sound as if a stack of holy scrolls were torn apart. He steps over the steaming, irradiated asphalt, the assault cannon sweeping from left to right and from right to left again, bursts of fire spouting forth, explosions dancing on the hulls of civilian vehicles and military ones alike.

Even through the filters of his Contemptor suit he can smell the smells. The smells of fire, and burning flesh, and blood. A woman in a blue dress, running across the street for shelter, her feet burning on the asphalt, a self-propelled baby carriage speeding behind her, smoke rising where its rubbery wheels contact the asphalt. The autocannon clatters, and the blue dress becomes a blue-red stain on the asphalt. The baby carriage speeds forward for a few yards, the Contemptor tracking it with its guns-

Had Barachiel been a human being, he would have died then. But Barachiel is no longer human, and he had died before this planet was even settled. He notices them - two cylindrical objects, thrown towards him from behind the wreckage of a wall, tracked by his onboard sensors before his own eyes are upon them. He bats at them with his free arm, and they bounce away into the blue, the explosions bright balls of searing light. His autocannon are brought to bear in the blink of an eye. There is a clatter, and then the wall is torn apart, and from behind it, delightful screams of panic and pain. He turns again.


The baby carriage is lying on its side in the asphalt, empty. Yards away is a woman in dark-blue clothing, holding the infant in one hand, like a package. Something is off about her, her skin all-too perfect, her eyes gleaming emotionlessly...

An android. An abomination

The assault cannon spin up, and in that second the woman jumps, hidden myomer under her smooth, synthetic skin throwing her forward and upward, and in a blasphemous moment she steps onto the armored cowl protecting Barachiel’s face, and then bounces off him like an acrobat. As she does so, the weapon in her free hand bathes his face in plasma fire.

Barachiel tastes blood that he had not tasted in centuries. His own. As he turns, tracking the android’s trajectory, she is gone.

Never mind. There are others.[/align]

*

“Fire!” - the tube on the infantryman’s shoulder spits out its contents in both direction, wind and smoke and flame to the rear, a hypervelocity missile to the front. The sound is like a whip cracking, and to the untrained eye the missile is not visible, rather looking like the trail of a beam weapon. It smashes into the chest of one of Koragon’s warriors, keramite shattering front and rear as the warrior’s body, with its dual hearts, special organs, and the other advances which he had been so proud, boil and vent. The wreckage of his body falls.

“That is the last one.” - the commander says, simply. Behind them, in the ruins, lies their platoon - or rather, what remained of their platoon up until this point. They started out forty-seven men this morning, now they are three. There are no more anti-tank weapons, no more hyper-V missile. Five men, four plasma rifles, seven M-grenades.

The Enemy appears soon - cultists in disheveled clothing, men in uniforms, servitors, crawling up over the piles of broken up panels and concrete plates into this third-floor arcology apartment, or rather, into what was someone’s apartment days ago. By now, the walls below them were concealed by falling wreckage from above, until they have become the slope of a new hill. It is on this slope that the Enemy is now advancing.

The plasma rifles bark, small explosions dance in the concrete, and the cultists retreat. A dozen bodies lie behind them - and then, a second later, mortar rounds begin to impact the building’s, saling through windows, smashing through holes in the walls, tearing open new ones.

Four men, four plasma rifles, seven M-Grenades.

The four man is lying on his back, his legs smashed badly in the powered armor. He tries to rise, aiming his rifle with one hand, fires it unaimed down the slope. He hits nothing.

“They’re going to get me, Lieutenant.” - he whispers. “I don’t have the Athan. There’s no way for me out of here. Don’t let them get me.”

The Lieutenant nods.

Three men, four plasma rifles, seven M-grenades.

Mighty Ogryn are walking up the slope, stumbling over the concrete plates, advancing yard by yard. Heavy bolters in their hands fire, punching through even through the thickest arcology walls,, and the Lieutenant is not surprised when one of his men falls, as if punched in the stomach by a mighty fist. Without thought, he throws three grenades down the slope. They bounce and detonate like little suns, the Ogryn roaring in pain as the fire consumes them, mixes their flesh thoroughly with droplets of molten concrete. Of the ones he misses, one stumbles, rolling down the slope, bones snapping, until he hits the street and lies there, roaring, his voice something between an injured animal and a hurt child. Neither friend nor foe tend to his wounds.

The survivors are firing their rifles in desperation as the Ogryn advance. One rifle overheats and is thrown away. Another one ceases firing, a shrapnel fragment stuck it side. No time to repair now.

Two men.Two rifles. Four M-Grenades.

The face of an Ogryn appears in what used to be a window, and is now a firing position. It is a face to behold - corrupted, scarred, the left side of the skull covered with a jute bag that seems to melds into the creature’s flesh, the tube of an old gas mask running directly into the creature’s mouth, where it is not clear where rubber ends and lips begin. The Lieutenant pushes the plasma rifle’s barrel into the creature’s flesh and pulls the trigger. There is an explosion, and something splatters on the front of the Lieutenant’s helmet. Now he cannot see.

When he throws off the helmet, he sees that he is alone. His platoon’s last infantryman is lying helmetless, motionless, in a corner of the room - is this a room anymore, when two of the walls are missing and the other two half-destroyed?. There is a small wound on the side of his face, just a tenth of an inch thick. As the Lieutenant bends over the man’s body, he realizes the wound is lethal - just a tiny shrapnel fragment that has entered into the soldier’s temple. Nobody could have predicted this, much less saved him. And still - he was not looking, perhaps if he had not looked away...

The two plasma rifles are in his hands. He fires one of them in a long, long burst, sweeping sown the Chaosites that are now scrambling down the streets. There is a vehicle of some sort, a boxy, rusted shape. He swings an M-grenade so hard that he feels pain radiate through his shoulder, and winces at its radiant burst. The vehicle spins in one place, its track snapped, and then the Lieutenant lands another M-grenade into its open hatch.

“Fuck you. Should have kept that lid shut.” - he whispers as he fires his rifle at the cultists that are trying to take refuge behind the flaming hulk.

But the feeling of satisfaction is fleeting. There is a rumble behind him, and suddenly the wall the he had turned his back to caves.

He falls forward. Had he not been wearing armor, he’d have died. As it is, he is merely pinned, his head is bleeding and the rifle is somewhere out in front of him. Something yanks him from under the wreckage and swings him against a wall. Pain radiates through his ribs, and his head swims as a creature almost twice his height smashes him into the wall again and again.

*

Cennias swings the Allanean soldier into the wall again. And again.

“This is not your world.” - he roars, as the man’s head shakes in his armored collar, and the soldier vomits on himself. The smells are the smells of humiliation, the smells of a human mind losing its ability to control the body. Disgusting. Delicious. Disgusting, because it was the smell of cowardice and weakness. Delicious, because it was the smell of victory, of Cennias breaking the man’s soul as he was breaking this body.

“This is our world. The Gods’ world! And we are taking it back.” - the Marine roared, as he smashed the Allanean into the wall and watched him fall to the ground.

The Lieutenant’s lips moved. He was bleeding from his mouth now. The color of the blood made Cennias guess that he had torn the man’s intestines. Slowly, the Allanean lifted both his hands in the air. On each armored middle finger, the Allanean was wearing a large, chromed ring.

In the last second, Cennias realized what had happened.

One man.

Two M-Grenades.

[New Dornalia]

JRCCC
San Diego, California
Colonial Republic of Earth

Meanwhile, a distant signal was sent to JRCCC. A signal from a Gracie unit that hasn't been detected since...Impossible! Or is it...?

The late night meeting of the President and other Cabinet members was getting to be a frequent habit. Over large cups of some sort of beverage, one crisis after another had to be solved by the people in charge of the Dornalian state. First, the NORINCO Affair. Then, the Imerian Situation which was off the record. Then, the Thrashian Imperial Evacuation. And now, the event people were calling any number of names. Some used the words Charlie Foxtrot. Others used the more poetic title of “Great Calamity” or “Great Disturbance.”

Either way, it was going to be another long night. Chinese takeout doused in Konoha Fire Sauce to keep everyone awake was the name of the game. Staying awake with huge mugs of strong, black coffee was also the game. At least for some of the cabinet. Some of them insisted on trying out a device some Mastersmith invented known as a Sleep Enhancer Pod. Haggar didn’t understand how they worked, he knew some fucking moron had just stolen the concept from an old pre-Apocalypse comic book--sleep for fifteen minutes, feel like you just slept eight hours.

At any rate, the latest crisis was coming in. Supreme Commander Wachowski lead off.

“At approximately 1400 Hours Pacific Standard Time, JRCCC received a coded message over the Standard Military Communications Network. Identification markers indicated the origin as being from a Gracie Unit, bearing the serial number Alpha-Six-Four-Niner-Seven.” Pausing, Wachowski added, raising an eyebrow, “Scans of the message indicate it is authentic, but the message was taken in for deep scanning by our security staff due to the use of older authentication codes and the identity of the Gracie Unit in question.”

“Well, what’s so special about this Gracie?” Haggar asked, confused.

Matter of factly, Wachowski looked at everyone in the room and said:

“Unit Alpha Six Four Niner Seven, according to our records, was transferred into Coredian service before the Civil War began, and her papers changed by agreement to indicate Coredian citizenship. The transfer was also conducted alongside the transfer of infinite improbability technology. Additionally, the codes it uses correspond to older pre-Civil War authentication codes.”

Everyone in the room paused, and Wachowski said, “Given recent events, we believe that elements of the Semi-Nomadic Republic/Imperial Republic of Coredia have reemerged into our timeline.”

Nadine gasped, and the proud woman was speechless, and her jaw gaped for a few seconds. Wachowski raised an eyebrow and asked, “Is something the matter, Director?”

“No, no it’s fine.” Nadine straightened herself up, and took a particularly long swig of cognac as she said, “I-I just felt like I saw a ghost was all. The last I remember….there was no more Semi-Nomadic Republic of Coredia. Not even an Imperial Republic of Coredia. Not after everything.” Nadine seemed to greet the news with a mixture of astonishment, shock, and just a tinge of anxiety and joy.

“Evidently, the existence of both Republics can now be confirmed,” Wachowski opined in a deadpan manner. Wachowski then played the message from Gracie-Chuu’nthor, and all paid attention as the Gracie asked to confirm the presence of the Dornalians, and to establish contact.

The message’s intent was clear, and Wachowski said, “We were working on tracing the origin of the signal….until just a few hours ago.”

Flipping the channels to the news and to a big holographic map, Wachowski said, “We received multiple suspicious contacts which seemed to confirm the authenticity of the message.”

Zooming in on a group of ships working alongside a Battlestar, Wachowski said, “I received word that some time ago, the CRS Robert A. Heinlein as well as the CRS Jeishka of Caeralfar, returning home from a patrol in the Andromeda Galaxy, entered into a meeting engagement alongside a ship calling itself the Battlestar Yamato with unknown contacts. Additionally, the news has been reporting disturbances in and around the regions of space controlled by the Elementals--one event after another, all of them involving monstrosities. The patterns are arguably similar to those affecting the Allaneans.”

Wachowski zoomed into the news, and Gracie Liang’s visage reported live from the Signing Ceremony, as she began speaking in a somewhat concerned manner.

”....this just in. It seems--oh, God--there’s panic everywhere. I haven’t been told what exactly is going on, but the rumors are flying hot and fast and frankly, there’s no way to tell what is what right now. All I know is that security has been deployed, and it looks like the Emperor and the King are being monitored closely. It looks like they are injure--wait, no, they seem to be fine….”

The people in the room looked at the scenes of chaos, as Wachowski said, rather nonchalantly in that way people get when they get exposed to weirdness and horror on a near constant loop, “As you can tell, the Elemental Nations is being affected by the Cataclysm.”

Haggar then asked, simply, “How much longer until it comes here?”

Nadine interjected, “That is currently unknown. The Order is hearing rumors, however, none of them good.”

Norton, for once not fighting with Nadine, said simply, “That explains the Chupacabras I hit on my way here.”

“And it would seem, Mr. Simons, that cryptid invasions are not the only thing which has been happening,” Wachowski said with a sigh. “Rumor has it that tourists visiting Central America on Earth were attacked by ghostly marauders in the jungle. Also, rumors of Daedric invasions and even the return of Lawrence Parseegian have been occurring in Nova Louisiana, although we cannot confirm this. And, on Hajarra, ghostly bombs have been going off, with a strange woman with a whip and two Jem’hadar following her being responsible.”

The jaws dropped, as President Haggar said simply, not happy with the situation at hand, “Does that affect our capacity to provide assistance to the Elementals, and the possible Old!Coredian presence?”

“It may, or it may not. Reports seem to indicate that we can for now fulfill our promise to combat the Cataclysm’s effects to those affected.”

“Good. Prepare forces accordingly, and radio back that Gracie, tell them we’re still alive.” Turning to Norton Simons, Haggar said simply, “Nort, get in contact with the Elementals. Tell them we’re going to do what we can to help. Particularly with the newcomers they may have in their midst.”

---

The Grand National Temple
Mars County, CRE

The Grand National Temple of the Order of the Vanguards was the holy grail of Dornalian magical practice. Less a temple than a sprawling complex which resembled a large university campus--a common design trope among the Order’s facilities--it certainly lived up to the moniker of “Grand,” all right. This was especially with the Meeting Hall dominating the campus--a large, modernist design that recalled the Order’s California roots.

The campus was abuzz with activity. Anyone who was anyone felt a disturbance in the Force, and even the non-Force using types were feeling the heat. With the Cataclysm or, more crudely, the “Fustercluck” as people called it, that sinking feeling was felt more and more recently. The rumors had been buzzing. There was the usual claptrap about chupacabras and other such things. The one that really got people going was the sighting of the Mahdi in the Old Shinmei Temple. The Mahdi had become the Order’s big bogeyman since the days of the Civil War, and his name wasn’t greeted kindly. If he came back, all hell had indeed broken loose. Then again, there were rumors of Daedric invasion in Nova Louisiana--or cyberdemons. Anything was fair game at this point. Nevermind the fact that

One rumor which was proving rather true was that the Temple Infirmary and the Commissary were finding themselves doing a brisk business in aspirin and other painkillers--and the bars nearby were doing disturbingly brisk business.

The prognosticatory types were trying to divine the source of the messes, to determine if perhaps the craziness infecting the universe had some origin. Among the ranks of the prognosticatory types was a prominent practitioner of necromancy, Albert Wong Fong-Shek, who apparently had even gone over to visit the Kazanskys to do what he could for Cassie Kazansky--an old friend. Professor Wong was good kirin folk, and his knowledge would be useful in the days to come.

But the place where Jesse and company would be teleporting would not be anywhere too large. Rather, it would be into a meeting room, where a group of the Order’s finest would be sitting around a large table. At its head was Kylie Walker, whose uniform had some very distinguishing markers denoting her status. Namely, a fourragere cord on her left side, embroidered in gold, along with some distinguishing rank pips, some slightly shinier medals, and also a small half-cape. Besides the obvious accommodation for her cats’ tail and ears, the whole uniform gave a very Victorian look.

In the room was a collection of refreshments--most of them based on that time honored Dornalian food. The Sausage. Terry Tadanobu herself could be seen busily gnawing on a sausage, absentmindedly.

Pouring herself a cup of coffee and offering refreshments to Jesse and John, she said, “Thank you for coming, Mr. Masaki. I’m Superior-General Kylie Walker. You already know of Captain-General Terry Tadanobu--”

“Just call me Terry,” Terry said with a wave.

“--anyway. I know this was on short notice, but I’ll be frank with you and Captain Watsen.” Walker addressed Watsen by his rank--a good rank in the Order, one that would enable John to take on apprentices if he so chose. Sipping her coffee, Kylie said, sighing, “The universe is going to hell in a handbasket, thanks to some madman opening up Pandora’s Box. The Pandora’s Box. You’ve probably heard about the Allanean situation--place is becoming an all-you-can-eat buffet for any number of crazies, including reports of Phyrexian invaders and even forces aligned with Cthulhu himself. Other nations are experiencing the heat, including Dyste and its multiple Tyroth Blackfangs. Frankly, it’s getting hard to tell what is the truth, and what’s just hearsay waiting to be made true. I’ve got people running around trying to make sense of all this hand-in-hand with the government types. Ain’t easy when there’s a lot of disturbances in the Force to take care of.”

Turning to Jesse, she then said, “One of these recent events is quite relevant to you. It involves….a relative of yours. Daniel Masaki. As you can no doubt see from the newsfeeds, forces aligned with either the Semi-Nomadic or Imperial Republics of Coredia--which we’ve taken to calling Old Coredia recently--have appeared, presumably due to the ongoing Cataclysm’s entropic effects. Additionally, the entropic forces unleashed by Pandora’s Box not only brought Brother Daniel and elements of the Old Coredia back, they’ve also caused a rash of events across the Elemental Nations. Rumors of ravenous bugs. Old enemies. And some group calling itself the Six-Star Alliance.”

Leaning forward, Kylie said simply, “We’re going to need your help in helping to deal with some of this craziness. It may involve Daniel. It may not. I just know from an anonymous source on the grapevine that a Dornalian vessel--the CRS Robert A. Heinlein--has already made contact with a task element of his named the Battlestar Yamato. And if what they say is true. Shit’s going to get serious. We’ll give you whatever resources you require.” She then added, “That does include babysitters for your brother, if you so require. I’ve got a couple of candidates in mind. Good with kids, and need a comeback.”

Terry then asked, “Any questions?”

-----

CRS Robert A. Heinlein
Somewhere in Deep Space

As it turned out, the Battlestar Yamato’s hails had not gone unanswered. As Wachowski helpfully indicated, two of Dornieland’s finest vessels, the CRS Robert A. Heinlein and CRS Jeishka of Caeralfar had stumbled upon the situation as they were returning home from the Andromeda Galaxy.

The Jeishka was seemingly normal enough. Clad in battleship grey, it looked fairly conventional, albeit like a bigger, sleeker, more aggressive looking version of that sci-fi classic ship, the Daedalus class. However, the ship next to it, the Heinlein looked a lot more sleek and intimidating. It looked a lot like a kunai, or even a Fairbairn-Sykes Combat Knife flying through space. Given that it was General Motors’ interpretation and vast modification of the Federation’s Prometheus-class design, this was not a surprise.

Onboard the Heinlein, the Gracie unit onboard, resembling an Ambiguously Brown Mobile Infantrywoman, would be continuously relaying battlefield footage onto the holographic screens alongside a projection of her colleague from the Jeishka, who resembled what could be best described as a “Generic Fantasy High Elf with Skin So Shiny It Could Blind Someone.”
All across the screens were images of destruction. The Jeishka was a moderately fast ship, but its cannons were faster. Having long since been retrofitted with new power generators and the Forced Uniform Colliding Kill Projector series of cannons--a directed energy weapon which harnessed Improbability Waves to deal damage to enemy ships in either cutting or pulsed fire--and also a heavy torpedo launcher and a series of gauss cannons, the Jeishka was firing off what could be described best as “gobs of high energy weapons fire.”

In more precise terms that meant that in rapid succession, bolts of reality distorting energy firepower were erupting from 20 different continuous fire banks firing out shiny blue energy stream crackling with lightning around them, along with what looked like rainfall, but made of similar blue crackling energy bolts flying from the quad emplacements, three per side. Either way, a lot of firepower was coming out at the space demon-dragons, and due to the fact the Dornalians seemed to have rather good accuracy and fire control systems, many of the crew felt a good chance that they would hit something that was hostile.

Gracie-Heinlein looked at the long streams of fire, and wondered out loud, “Compensating for something?”

“No, why?” Gracie-Jeishka said, somewhat perturbed.

“Well, I mean, look at the light show going on. I mean, I like overwhelming firepower too, but somehow, I think you’re just doing this to show off.”

“Am not.” Gracie-Jeishka said, frowning.

“Am too!” Gracie-Heinlein said with a knowing wink.

“W-welll, we have to do what we must to win the battle! The lives of the people aboard the Yamato are at stake!” Gracie-Jeishka said that with a blush, indicating perhaps that her sister had struck a bit closer to home than she might have expected.

Gracie-Heinlein said, with a smirk, “I know. Just saying, you could work on your precision a bit.”

“Okay, then. What’s your definition of precision?”

Snapping her fingers, Gracie-Heinlein turned to the captain and shouted, “Captain? Can we do that Multi-Vector Assault Mode business?”

Looking at the combat feeds, the captain said, “Sure” with a shrug.

With another snap of her fingers, Gracie-Heinlein said, “Initiating Multi Vector Assault Mode. All Personnel, Stand By. Repeat, initiating Multi Vector Assault Mode!”

The Dragons would be able to notice the lithe black ship harassing them with its own weapons fire now suddenly splitting into three parts, all of them very heavily armed and seeming to move rather too quickly for comfort as they began firing away at the Dragons.

For her part, Gracie-Heinlein whistled and said, “Where were we?”

[Allanea]

It was called, The Mercine Veil. A form of magic that, with the aid of the finest wizards of the Serene Republic, was being raised now to protect the nation from the fractal disruptions. It rose, like a colorful fog, over the largest cities and major colonies of the Free Kingdom, raised in elaborate magic rituals. It granted the Freemen peace of mind, and hope, and safety for their children - but it did not end the disaster, for of course it could not. Not all of Allanea was protected at once - indeed it would take months of effort to erect the Veil everywhere, and perhaps years. More, even were the nation entire protected, still the veil did not stop the evils awakened by the disruption.,

Even now, along the far reaches and close domains of Allanea and Greater Prussia, the fight was continuing.

Neo-Dallas

The Battle for Neo-Dallas was a study in the two definitions of surprise.

In one sense, nobody was surprised. The world was already going pear-shaped as it was, and so it was not unusual in any sense that the fabric of reality had begun to sense, and creatures that, by any right, should not exist, spilled forth from it. Men and women who had been watching, for weeks now, newscasts of worlds devoured, systems ablaze, cities demolished, demon attacks and zombie outbreaks, were not surprised to see that the effects of Pandora’s Box were now upon them too.

Neo-Dallas’ win in the lottery was a race of advanced aliens, coming down in sleek ships that looked as if they imitated the shape of an insect. They erupted - somehow - between the planet’s defense stations and the surface.

Thus was the second definition of surprise demonstrated to the Neo-Dallatians. That of military surprise.

The defense stations became vapor instantly, their crews and weapons not even having the time to scream as the alien fleet gave the first notice of its existence simply by firing all of its weapons at them.

A battleship hovering in the system’s orbit reacted with a delay of only a precious two seconds, turning five of the alien vessels into plasma and shrapnel, and then grabbing a sixth with its drive fields and smashing it apart against the planetary defense shields. An alien vessel - later, it was identified as a dropship - attempted to dodge under the battleship. The vessel’s armored belly breathed fire and smoke, and the dropship was broken in twain.

From the surface, defense batteries engaged, beams of plasma raking the skies, hyper-velocity missiles meeting the bizarre, mantis-like vessels face-on.

Then, suddenly, the alien ships fired, all at once, hundreds of vessels, their fire concentrated perfectly on a single point of the orbital defense shield.

And the shield did not hold, the vast concentrated force tearing through it and smashing apart one of the shield generator reactors.

After a few more hours of bombardment, the ailens were ready for their landing. The dropships made their first attempt to land, at first, near the state capital. A few plasma bursts from the surface, a few more dropships burning in the woods, and they decided upon a new plan.

Then, the dropships began to land again, this time away from the cities, where they knew the defense batteries could not reach them. Worse, many of the aliens left their ships - improbably, in the very void of space - and began to descend. Their bodies were terrible to behold - disgusting shapes, almost as tall as a human, with translucent, bat-like wings, and multiple pair of limbs protruding from an ellipsoidal torso, something between a crab and a mollusc.

The First Battle for Neo-Dallas was now in full swing.

* * *

Hestia, Andromeda Galaxy

“Fucking really?” - Bruce Nott asked rhetorically, as he fired off his pistol into the tunnel, twice, and twice again, the ancient chemenergic bouncing slightly with each shot, as the glow of the muzzle flash illuminated the eight-foot-tall figure of a Hestian Mutant. The creature roared in pain and charged, and Nott leveled the long barrel of his pistol directly at its head and fired twice.

“I am a fucking archaeologist. Not a commando. This shit is not supposed to be happening.” - he said, aiming the pistol, a custom Broomhandle Mauser, down the tunnel, and firing it four more times as another, smaller figure, appeared deep within it.

Next to him, a man in a thick, one-piece winter outfit, raised his own weapon to the shoulder - a confusing contraption that looked like a pair of lasguns joined together. Indeed, it was a pair of lasguns joined together, and as the man fired them into the tunnel, something deep down there shrieked and howled in pain. “Worry Nott.” - he said.

“Was that a fucking pun, Professor?”

“Yes.” - the Professor replied. “Yes, it was a fucking pun. As I said, worry nott. When we come home everyone who has done well in this will get a grade bonus.”

On the surface, the biology research station was in a sense better off. Not because it was not getting attacked - of course, it was - but because the biologists were, in a sense, engaging in their research. Hestia Station 6 was, in brief, a set of geodesic domes arrayed in the snow. Among these domes, bizarre creatures, some of them not discovered before on Hestia, were now bolting to and fro. Some of the domes were burning, and some of the biologists lay on the snow, dead, among the creatures they had discovered but minutes ago.

But for those who survived, their opponents were not only threats. They were discoveries, and samples, and articles. Hirudo Gigantica Hestiana, and Ursus Hestianus, and several others, were discovered on that day. Dr. Keanu McFarlane lay in the snow, and his blood was steaming, and the bodies of several of the creatures that would be known as McFarlane’s Devils, or Sarcophilius Macfarlanii, lay around him, for Keanu MacFarlane died as Freemen died.

Lab assistant Lydia Mckensie, covered in wounds, leaving behind her a blood-red trail, retreated into one of laboratories, and as the creatures followed after her, there was gunfire, and then explosions. Named after her was the Velociraptor Maccensiensis, covered in thick white fur, and imbued with slight magical sensitivity.

Such was the day on Hestia.

[Allanea]

Aboard the Royal Yacht The Impossibility

“You do not think we are overdoing it, Sasha?” - Wilhelm asked, lounging momentarily in the leather-covered armchair. The leather was a sort of beige, suggesting to the connoiseur that it had been made out of the skin of a human being, and indeed it was - the skin of a slaver, that is. Wilhelm raised to his lips a tankard, covered in silver, and of a gruesome shape - a silver skull with menacing ruby eyes, it was indeed the decorated skull of a Pudite colonel.

“Overdoing it how,” - Alexander asked absentmindedly, as he looked over side of his own armchair. Standing on the floor there was a basket, and in the basket, on a pair of soft pillows, slept a strange animal. It was a black, fuzzy kitten, perhaps two weeks old, she was about the size of the Emperor’s palm. But unlike most kittens, the animal was equipped with a pair of black, leathery wings, whose color matched almost entirely the color of its fur, so that when they were folded, the animal appeared an ordinary cat. Alexander lowered a milk bottle to the basket. As if by magic, as the bottle was placed next to it, the kitten awoke and pawed at it with its tiny forelimbs. “Here you go, little one. Heeeere you go,” - said Alexander Blaken-Kazansky, as he fed the kitten.

“Why are we going about in an Executor-class fucking battleship? I mean, I understand that the multiverse is on fire and shit, but, like...”

Alexander’s form began to shift somewhat. Even now, after having known the man for literally centuries, Wilhelm raised an eyebrow when the Aranyafiri began to adjust his shape, two more arms sprouting from his sides. In a few seconds, Alexander became a study in contradictions. One arm was cradling the winged kitten, one arm was feeding it, one held a skull tankard, another was resting on the side of the armchair.

“Oh but Wil, we are not simply flying about in a yacht like a pair of corrupt overweight Knootians. We are about to conceive a plan that will defeat the enemies of Allanea, strengthen the alliance with Dornalia, improve the safety of the nation, and avenge ourselves on our foes with a terrible vengeance.”

“What?”

“You are forgetting all our lessons, Wil, that is very bad.” - Alexander said, as he raised the skull-mug that was once a Vorridian priest to his mouth. “Now, what is the best revenge, Wilhelm?”

“Best revenge is living well, Mentor.”

“And what is a crisis?”

“A crisis is an opportunity, Mentor.”

“Very well. Summon my secretaries. Tell them to contact Amanda Lixunomei, Professor of Teleportation and Planar Geography. And Professor Albert Wong Fong-Shek.”

“Is that not the Qirin your son-in-law rescued?” - Wilhelm chuckled.

“He is not yet my son-in-law, Wil. But we do need him a call. Also they should have Maverick call President Haggar. We are going to need the Dornalian Navy on this, too.”

“...what on Earth are you planning?”

“Oh, I have quite a few ideas. Also, call the Hestian Garrison. That’s to say, you call them. Personall.”

*

Hestia

The storm did not abate. Certainly, the literal storm, the wind and blizzard and thunder that rocked the research stations, did not. It was hardly possible now to see ten yards from one’s door, and the freezing, merciless wind that now blowed. Outside, the temperatures now declined to fifty below. Were a man to have the foolishness of stepping outside unprotected, they would doubtless perish. Even in protective suits, the Allaneans ventured forth only carefully.

Neither did the proverbial storm awake. Terrifying creatures - some feral, others almost obviously sapient, seemingly guided by a malevolent mind- attacked the scientists, workers, and soldiers who manned the stations. Even in their spherical, concrete homes they knew little respite. To venture outside was nearly suicide.

Yet venture outside they did.

They ventured forth to their warehouses, and sent forth their scout-robots, harvesting one of the most priceless product of Hestian civilizations, one that Allanean science was still only working to replicate. Hestian Cable, which once formed the very basis of that civilization, lay in the warehouses, rolled onto heavy, unwieldy rolls. More were being harvested now, and the ones already present were being rolled towards the shuttlecraft.

As the men worked, knee-deep in snow, they had to fight. Sometimes some creature, barely visible in the snow and blizzard, would dart towards the workers. Sometimes there was gunfire, and sometimes only screams and blood and gnashing of teeth. Sometimes the work vehicles were used as weapons, and the forklift blades were soon red with the monsters’ blood.

But work did not cease.

[New Dornalia]

Hestia, Mercine Worlds, Allanea

The cold winds would not just bring forth monsters and various kinds of gribblies to the world of Hestia.

They would also bring out a woman who looked more like a mountain man in terms of sheer gear than anything. She wore a pair of goggles, and her face covered by a wrapping made of cloth. Her head was covered by a Stetson--well, what others would call a "campaign hat," with a new strap made of leather from some undetermined source concealing a coyote's tail and ears. The faded brass badge on her Stetson, the very well worn Red Serge tunic and the tactical gear which was as equally worn indicated clothing which formerly belonged to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. The rifle of course, was an original--a Winchester 1895, with a few hand-made attachments such as a new scope scavenged from the civilization which used to live here and a cudgel of some sort on the end which crackled with electric light. To feed her gun, bandoleers arranged in the manner of a Mexican bandito over a leather coat of some sort were seen, as was some sort of belt which held grenades and petrol bombs.

The woman had lived a rat's existence for a while here. Hiding in the tunnels, evading mutants and cannibals, setting up traps and even setting rival groups of mutants against each other, the woman found herself pushed to the limit here on this world. She didn't know quite what she did to be whisked here from the wilds of eastern California. One moment, she had been battling elements of the Mormon Union's Deseret Police, and the next moment she was thrust from the heat of a California summer to a world about to undergo--and which was still undergoing--an ice age. Now, she was living on the brink, constantly.

Now, it looked like the Brink had been crossed. Earlier that morning, the bastards had broken into her safehouse--a small room which she figured was some sort of employee breakroom in the beforetimes--though they had lost a lot of people in the process. She had been forced to burn down her fortified stronghold with the bastards inside. Still, she knew the Bastards would keep coming. And indeed, as she ran in the tunnels, she smelled the air, and stopped. She heard pitterpatter steps, and turned to face the darkness from whence she came. Pulling out one of the petrol bombs, she flicked open her lighter and touched it to the rag on the bomb, before she tossed it into the dark.

The resounding smashing of glass could be heard, as could the roaring creatures aflame. Several of the "Devils" that the Allaneans had found rushed out, and before long, the woman began running backwards, firing and reloading her lever action in rapid succession. As she did so, she shouted deep, angry curses in Michif as the shots felled several in rapid succession. The light generated by the flames, and her own keen senses made sure each shot count.

The woman then continued to run, rapidly reloading behind a corner with a stripper clip, and fired again a couple of shots at the creatures before she ran and kept running. Up ahead was one of several utility junctions--she figured them to be anyway--and then cranked it open rapidly to enter. She began the process of cranking it closed, and eventually closed the door, shutting it upon one of the creatures which exploded in mush. Still, she could hear them scraching and pounding. She climbed onto a ladder, and began scaling it to enter another access port. If she remembered the tunnels correctly, this would lead to a side tunnel, wherein she would be safe for the moment. To her knowledge, the Bastards hadn't come there.

Finding a grate she often used to enter the tunnel, she looked through it. The woman frowned. She laid eyes upon a pair of men. She studied them carefully, recognizing who they were. A little while ago, she began to notice groups of indiviudals like the pair in front of her, exploring the tunnels. Sometimes they came with those guys in the Denison Smocks, and sometimes they didn't. Either way, they weren't like the Bastards. That was enough to give them a pass.

She looked about, and saw one of the creatures creeping up on the two men from behind. Moving down through some of the ductwork, she crawled out slowly into the shadows through another grate, and then, the creature turned to spot her.

With only a grin, she jabbed the thing with her shock baton, and the creature let out a scream as it tried to knock the rifle away from it. The woman's response was to pull the trigger on her 1895, knocking it back. Three more shots would follow to the creature's head, followed by the production of a large Bowie knife rammed in a crude manner through it's neck. All the while, more Michif expletives could be heard as the thing expired. Spitting on it, the woman then pulled out a handkerchief, turned on her flashlight to illuminate herself, and waved it as she approached the Allaneans. She then spoke in an accent betraying origins from the Albertan plains.

"Don't shoot! I'm not one of the Bastards! DON'T SHOOT!"

[Imeriata]

"This beardsworth, I will tell you is the way a gentleman is supposed to earn his living!" Squire lieutenant Mjelker said with a sigh as he took a calm sip of his tea that his dwarf manservant handed him before the stunty creature dove down to the ground again. "Really Beardworth, you are ruining the tunic I got you!" he added with a hint of disapproval in his voice.

"Not my name Sire, and with the circmstances do you not think..." the Dwarf added as a nearby explosion showered them in pebbles and Mjelker sighed, pouring the pinetea to the ground as it had gotten dirt in it.

"All righty chaps, prepare to fall back to the next defensive line, those buggers seems to be getting a wee bit frisky!" he said as he opened his warbook, an old looking thing, bound in leather and brass, the screen itself though started to shine up as the machine's spirit realised that it's master called it.

"Rightio, my Squire lieutenant!" a voice came from one of the nearest NCO's that started to shout angrily at the guardsmen around them. The men were lying down behind rubble and other cover as the already prepared lines was still far behind them, the official military doctrine of the federation was to have a fighting retreat when defensive positions were challenged. Until the enemy were at the rear of the defensive zone and had been exhausted fighting through a meatgrinder. When the enemy had gotten as far as they were going to go, the federal forces, started their massive counter attack as fresh reserves were thrown in. While the massive storms of men were not really possible here yet and the doctrines call for heavy aircover, large formations of tracklayers, a downright silly amount of artillery and finally the massive amounts of guardsmen that would follow elite regiments that spearheaded the push against a now weakened enemy were not here in the amount that one would require on a strategic level so were there still large reserves waiting for the counter offensive. Right now though were troops holding large choke points in narrow streets as other units moved over the rooftops raining fire down on enemies on the ground.

With a sigh did Mjelker push on the runes for artillery support and pointed ahead of his own formation on an electronic map that showed up. He saw a white soldier that represented his unit and a worryingly large swarm of red contacts representing his enemies on the map which made him frown a bit. At least so would those numbers be massively down when they reached the actually fortified positions further back towards their camp area. A polite letter showed up on the warbook's screen that said that they were to hold for a bit as the artillery got to them.

"Very well beardsworth, it would seem that the lads in the artillery is about to..." he begun before a loud whine could be heard and the whole area ahead of his units were utterly devoured by fire. There were explosions as fragmentation shells hit the ground, the air seemed to punch the young officer sideways and almost threw him at the ground as the shockwave from explosive shells that went off in the air before impact hit them, and finally were there the infernal heat as shells filled with gels that when they started to burn did not go out ignited and showered the killzone with their deadly embrace.

"Rightio chaps, we are off!" he called as the units under his command started to fall back to the next defensive points where other units would take over the front lines as they joined up with the reserves, either back at the main camp for the push or to re-enforce positions that were about to be overrun.

[Allanea]

Hestia Biological Research Station

"Don't shoot! I'm not one of the Bastards! DON'T SHOOT!"

Professor Kenneth Wendorf shoved the barrel of his pistol directly into the snout of an angry, furry animal and fired it. There was a burst of automatic fire, and the animal shrieked as it fell to the ground dead. Firing several more bursts, Wendorf ran towards the woman, Bruce Nott at his side.

”Hey!” - he called out. A short, white beard was visible from under his hood. ”Who are you? Are you with the biology team? Or with the Dornalians”

One thing was clear, she was definitely not part of the Archaeology setup.

[Allanea]

Rio de Janeiro, Kurzweil

Quantity has a quality all of its own.

What does that phrase mean?

It is attributed to various tyrants, generals, and leaders.

What does it mean, really?

It is that mass of men, beasts, and machines, bearing down towards your positions. It is that sound of the roar of a thousand throat. The rifles and machineguns fire, the heavy weapons’ thumping can be heard overhead, and the attackers fall to the ground - but never enough. You fire and fire, empty magazines hitting the ground as you reload. Sometimes it seems that you saw your shot hit someone, you might even see them fall, and sometimes it seems that there is no effect - there are just too many foes to tell the difference.

Pushed forward, as if by a blow from a mighty hammer, as if their army were compressed by a hydraulic press, the Phyrexians rush down the streets of Rio. In some places, the Allaneans need to abandon their positions, simply because the chitinous bodies of the invaders are stacking too high for the machineguns to keep shooting. In some places, the Allanean defense is simply overwhelmed, men and guns buried under the clacking, shrieking, roaring wave. Sometimes the men simply perish then, sometimes there is a brief, bloody fight, with swords, bayonets, rifles and hand-grenades.

The Imerians are disciplined and brave, their defense falling back carefully, elastically, to the second line of trenches, and then the first line becomes a death trap for the Phyrexians and the undead they control. The term for this is an ‘artillery trap’ - fall back just enough to pull your opponent in to be butchered by a hail of howitzer shells and mortar rounds.

Into this Imerian trap, the enemy falls, in part lured by his own arrogance, and in part driven by the hydraulic press that is the Sterkistani and Allanean armies. There they are slaughtered by the hundreds and even by the thousands, even as the Queen’s army drives behind them.

Eventually, the flow of the Phyrexian seems to ease. They come at the Imerians by the hundreds now, and then by the dozewns. Then a few more appear, only to be mowed down, and then, finally, there is silence. Long, precious seconds of silence. Then there is gunfire again, but now gunfire of entirely different nature. Isolated gunshots in the distance now, and short bursts of fire.

Through the smoke of battle, she appears, riding her steed at a walk, towards the Imerian positions. Smoke rises where the steed’s fiery hooves touch the ground. The crown at her proud brow gleams gold, and the standard-bearer in front of her carries the banner of House Kazansky.

She speaks, the first words out of the Empress’ mouth are in the Imerians’ own language, albeit pronounced with a terrible accent.

Var halsade arade kamfar! [IMER. - Be greeted, honored fighters!]

[Zuni]

'I have a bad feeling about this," Flight Officer Kent Panzer said as his starfighter rose up on its repulsorlifts and prepared to take off.

"Keep your kriffing feelings to yourself, Axe Five," the squadron commander admonished him.

"Sorry, sir," Kent muttered.

The commander went on with pre-flight instructions. "Dagger Squadron will be taking the first run," he said. "A station that big could have several dozen squadrons of fighters, so someone needs to cover their asses. We're first up to draw the enemy's starfighter screen away and force them to engage us, clearing the way for Dagger Squadron. Everybody clear?"

A chorus of affirmatives came in response. The fighters engaged their thrusters and rocketed up out of the atmosphere.

Zunite starfighters were designed for speed and deft maneuvering, but also to pack one hell of a wallop. They were only slightly neutered by the orders these pilots had to conserve their proton torpedoes... lasers and autocannons could still do significant damage to most enemy fighters, especially ones that lacked shields like the TIE fighters they would be engaging today.

"I have visual on incoming eyeballs," Axe Two said. Considering the number of incoming enemy fighters, the fact that her voice remained steady was quite impressive.

"Confirmed," Kent said. "Fifteen squadrons at least." He swallowed nervously, hoping it wasn't audible over the comms.

"Fire at will once they're within range," Axe Leader said. Considering the speed of the craft involved, it'd probably be less than a minute.

Sure enough, targeting crosshairs appeared on Kent's HUD a few seconds later. He fired several shots and saw a few of the TIE fighters explode, a couple more go into uncontrolled spins. He couldn't tell who had hit what without checking his instruments, and there was no time for that... the enemy was now returning fire.

--------------------------------------------------

"I have a bad feeling about this," Vice President Harlan Rusk said as he watched the dogfight grow larger and larger. Axe Squadron was doing its job... they had taken zero casualties and had drawn nearly all of the enemy's fighters into combat with them. A single squadron had hung back, probably on maverick orders from its commander, now in a holding pattern over the trench that Dagger Squadron would have to enter for their torpedo run.

"Dagger Leader, you have one squadron to engage before starting your run," the female lieutenant manning the war room's comm station said. "May the Force be with you."

"Roger that, Control," came the acknowledgement from Dagger Leader. "Two and Three Flights, hang back and deal with those eyeballs. One Flight, on me." Daggers Five through Twelve peeled off to engage the enemy fighters... Daggers One through Four went down into the trench.

[New Dornalia]

Hestia Biological Research Station

"Don't shoot! I'm not one of the Bastards! DON'T SHOOT!"

Professor Kenneth Wendorf shoved the barrel of his pistol directly into the snout of an angry, furry animal and fired it. There was a burst of automatic fire, and the animal shrieked as it fell to the ground dead. Firing several more bursts, Wendorf ran towards the woman, Bruce Nott at his side.

”Hey!” - he called out. A short, white beard was visible from under his hood. ”Who are you? Are you with the biology team? Or with the Dornalians”

One thing was clear, she was definitely not part of the Archaeology setup.

The woman held her hands up, and wondered what the question was about. She seemed to wince at the mention of Dornalians. Then again, they didn't know her history, how she had dealt with the Workers' State's patrols and all the gunfights she had in many rural arroyos and forest glades with Internal Security Bureau personnel.

The woman then began to step forward, hands in the air, and said, "I'm neither. Not Dornalian. And not with those Brits either patrolling the tunnels with their Stens. And I'm not one of those guys stumbling around in the tunnels either studying what I've been killin' for the past...God knows how long."

In the woman's hand, she had two items. One was again, a handkerchief. White, and a traditional means of signaling a truce.

The other item? A faded card which the woman handed to the pair, which came from a regime long ago which didn't exist any longer. The card would read in English, "Alberta Operator's Licence" and identified the woman as "Adrienne Perrault." Lest there be any doubt, the ID would show a younger version of the same woman in front of them--or at the very least, one that hadn't been hardened by years wandering through the post-Apocalypse and then through the tunnels under Hestia.

Adrienne would say, simply, doffing her cap to reveal a pair of coyote's ears on top of her head as she seemed confused, "Now, I guess I should ask you two--what're you doing down here? I mean, those bastards are everywhere down here. More of 'em than usual. They drove me out of house and home, even." She then added, "And also, did you mention...Dornalians? Don't tell me those commie bastards got spaceflight. If they're behind this..."

[The Rhythm Nation]

The White House, Eastern Music City

President Ted Nugent fidgeted nervously, twirling an antique six-shooter on the index finger of his right hand. Every once in a while the gun would point briefly at one of the other people in the Oval Office with him... some flinched back, but Morse Moose didn't. Finally, the man they were waiting for entered the room. "Major Tom?" Ted confirmed, and got a nod of assent. "Have a seat," he said, gesturing with the gun.

Major Tom sat down. He recognized some of the people in the room, but not all of them. "You're our best recon guy," a middle aged man in an admiral's uniform said to Tom. "What's your assessment of our situation?"

"Situation?" a tall, broad-shouldered man with a bulldog-like face grunted. "This ain't no situation, it's a clusterfuck."

"Eloquent as always, Rooster," Tom said. He couldn't help but grin a little, but his smile quickly faded and was replaced by a worrisomely grave look. "Music City is under heavy attack on multiple fronts, from multiple enemy forces. It appears that when they converge, they engage each other. This would suggest that instead of being a coordinated effort from a single agency, the attacks on Music City are completely random."

"Is that good, or bad?" President Nugent asked.

"Potentially good," Tom said. "If we can find ways to force infighting, we could get our enemies to destroy each other."

"What's the biggest threat?" Rooster asked. The notoriously difficult to injure Special Forces operative was obviously already thinking about the combat stage of things.

"Spiders," Tom said without hesitation. "Was anyone here alive the last time they attacked?" He glanced at Rooster... he honestly didn't know how old the man was.

"I was 14," Rooster grunted. "Not old enough to join the army yet."

"I didn't know you were that old," President Nugent said.

"With all due respect, sir, that's above your pay grade," Rooster said.

"But I'm the president."

"Exactly," the Director Of National Intelligence said, leaning forward. "Plausible deniability, sir. Not that we know exactly what Rooster is, but the less you know the better. Sir."

"So what do we do about these threats?" Nugent asked.

The Director leaned forward again. "How familiar are you with Chung Doctrine?" he said.

"The Planeswalker? Wang Chung?" Nugent sounded incredulous... there was good reason for this, as the most well known Eurhythmic Planeswalker hadn't been seen or heard from in two years.

"Exactly," Morse Moose said. "His number one rule... use evil to fight evil."

"I don't get it," Nugent said.

"We're assembling a crack team of civilians," the Director said. "Professional contract killers, mercenaries, people from the world of organized crime. Rooster will be their commander. Our belief is that these people will be willing and able to do things that an ordinary military unit can't or won't. In exchange, the survivors get immunity from prosecution for all past crimes... a clean slate. But they also get the fucking book thrown at them if they commit so much as a moving violation from here on out. Rooster, your first target has been located in Margaritaville."

"Anyone I know?" Rooster asked.

"As a matter of fact, you did serve with him in Nam."

"No. Not him." Rooster looked somewhat agitated. "Anyone but him."

"Who?" Major Tom asked.

"Mack the Knife," Rooster groaned.

Jackson Heights, northern Music City

The Brown crime family was one of the most powerful in Music City. There wasn't any black crime family more powerful in the entire Rhythm Nation. The head of the family, James Brown, had earned significant goodwill from the authorities due to his status as the hero of the Thriller massacre. The day when the park's employees had snapped and started killing people, James had been there for a day out with his family... his late wife and oldest son Bobby, who had been a toddler at the time and thankfully didn't remember the events.

Massive loss of life had been averted due to the fact that James had been armed that day. A great many of the murderers had fallen with his bullets in them. So when a mob of heavily armed clowns and carnies came marching down the street in front of his brownstone, he didn't hesitate... he started shooting.

"What the fuck you shootin' at?" came the adult Bobby Brown's irritated yell.

"Get your brother and sister! We under attack!" James barked.

Soon enough Bobby appeared on the balcony above James. On other balconies up and down the street on both sides, other men appeared. They all had assault rifles. Before long a cacophony of automatic weapons fire made it nearly impossible to hear anything.

But James could still pick out the sound of his middle child's heavier weaponry. James Brown was regarded by many as a physically intimidating figure. But he was still normal human sized. Leroy Brown was not. Standing at 7 feet, 9 inches and probably weighing over 400 pounds (most of that solid muscle), he struck terror into the hearts of the Brown family's enemies just by standing there.

Anyone could dual wield sawed off shotguns. But Leroy was the only man James had ever seen dual wielding full length, 12-gauge shotguns. His powerful arms barely even twitched from the heavy recoil. Standing next to him, so small by comparison she could barely be seen, was James' youngest child Lucy. She was dual wielding too... in each of her deceptively delicate looking hands was an automatic pistol. Those hands didn't need weapons to kill, though. If Leroy was an enforcer, Lucy was a ninja. James was pretty sure she could take her older brother, if his love for her hadn't prevented him from ever harming her. He knew for a fact she could take down Bobby, who had no such compunctions but had learned different reasons not to fuck with her.

The battle continued raging, and James realized there were more of the enemy than last time. Much more, in fact. And a greater diversity in types of enemies... not all human, not all readily identifiable in fact, and some of the things he could identify James hadn't believed existed until now when he was seeing them with his own eyes. Zombies, demons, ghouls... the forces of darkness were out in full. And his side of this fight was eventually going to run out of ammo.

[Allanea]

The woman held her hands up, and wondered what the question was about. She seemed to wince at the mention of Dornalians. Then again, they didn't know her history, how she had dealt with the Workers' State's patrols and all the gunfights she had in many rural arroyos and forest glades with Internal Security Bureau personnel.

The woman then began to step forward, hands in the air, and said, "I'm neither. Not Dornalian. And not with those Brits either patrolling the tunnels with their Stens. And I'm not one of those guys stumbling around in the tunnels either studying what I've been killin' for the past...God knows how long."

In the woman's hand, she had two items. One was again, a handkerchief. White, and a traditional means of signaling a truce.

The other item? A faded card which the woman handed to the pair, which came from a regime long ago which didn't exist any longer. The card would read in English, "Alberta Operator's Licence" and identified the woman as "Adrienne Perrault." Lest there be any doubt, the ID would show a younger version of the same woman in front of them--or at the very least, one that hadn't been hardened by years wandering through the post-Apocalypse and then through the tunnels under Hestia.

Adrienne would say, simply, doffing her cap to reveal a pair of coyote's ears on top of her head as she seemed confused, "Now, I guess I should ask you two--what're you doing down here? I mean, those bastards are everywhere down here. More of 'em than usual. They drove me out of house and home, even." She then added, "And also, did you mention...Dornalians? Don't tell me those commie bastards got spaceflight. If they're behind this..."

“Communists? Dornalians? Are you fucking nuts?” - Bruce Nott asked, but Professor Wendorf cut him off. “Really, Nott, I would expect better from you.” - he took Adrienne’s ID from her, inspecting it carefully. “Miss Perrault, this is not a time for any kind of bullshit. You’re quite older than I am - at least a few centuries old, Dornalia time. Either you are fucking with us, which is really not fucking funny, or you’ve been in stasis for all this time. Or maybe you’re a time traveler, fuck knows. But you better not be fucking with us, because now is really, really not the time.”

He paused. “Really brief introduction into the time you skipped out on. “New Dornalia becomes socialist, New Dornalia goes to space, New Dornalia becomes more and more capitalist, New Dornalia joints Greater Prussia and the Capitalist Internationale. Now there is a global cataclysm spanning several fucking galaxies, and horrifying monsters are-”

Something moved in the corridor, and the Professor reflexively fired his dual lasrifle at it. The something shrieked. The Professor’s weird contraption hissed again in his arms, and the shadow yelped and made no more sounds. “We are archaeologists, or rather, I am an archaeologist, and young Mr. Nott here is trying to become an archaeologist. We are part of the Allanean expedition on this planet - OH FOR FUCKSAKE!”

A terrifying monster appeared on the other end of the tunnel. It was in its appearance like a vast bear, with a long, narwhal-like horn on its muzzle, so tall it had to bend over to move through the train tunnel. Lasbolts seared its flesh, pistol rounds entered its muscle as both Nott and Wendorf opened fire, but the immense animal roared its fury and advanced.

[Allanea]

Official Message from Alexander Blaken-Kazansky, Emperor of Greater Prussia, King of Allanea, Reichskamphen, and Leipzig-Island, Tsar of All Russia, Archduke of Dragkon, Duke of Leyfield and Blaken-Island, Count of Centreville,Liberator of Torontonias, Friend of the Elves, Emperor of the Thousand States, President of of the CAPINTERN, and Headmaster of the Leyfield School for Girls

My dear friends!

A hard time is upon us.

The ethereal shift that so afflicts the world has spouted untold evils. Every manner of heinous villain of history both our own, and of parallel worlds, and evils long thought only fictional, attacks with unprecedented ferocity. Horrifying entities attack within our very cities, and even the most civilized countries are not fully safe. Attempts were made to hold off these entities by sounding the Horn of Valere - but sadly this is not working as well as it should, simply because one culture’s hero is another’s villain.

However, there is hope. And the hope is not simply in our arms, mighty though they be, nor in our warriors and mages, mighty though they be. In this dark hour, we have received aid from the best of sapient-kind. Our allies in Imeriata, in New Dornalia, in Idoa, and in Menelmacar are offering and giving us aid and succour. Neutral nations, like Sterkistan, have offered us assistance as well, and it has been accepted by us gratefully. Even nations that we have a tense relation with, namely, the Necrons, have given us assistance (it’s true that they have accidentally dislocated a planetary orbit of one of our colonies, but hey, that can happen to any bloke!).

An important part has also been played by the scientists and mages of the Serene Republic of High Treefolk. It is important of me to speak of their contribution here separately. The Treefolken scientific community, working in cooperation with ours, and on short notice, has developed a magical means, called the Mercine Veil, to protect major cities and even national borders, from having ethereal tears occur directly inside them. This doesn’t solve all the problems, but at least it prevents demons and things from spawning directly in our cities.

I believe Greater Prussia has already shown in this emergency that we can establish a cooperation, and work together, to resolve this crisis. I call upon all nations that are affected, to contact Allanea and Greater PRussia, and together we can coordinate our work.

I suggest that we should work on the following issues:

First, we should work on ways on which we can stabilize fractal tears in countries suffering from them. I suggest you immediately contact either our Treefolken allies, or possibly our Menelmacari allies, for assistance with that. Those who are not our allies need not fear the costs of this - any debts incurred will need to be defrayed only after the war.

Second, we should coordinate Greater Prussian and Allanean military assistance and disaster relief to those countries most in need, and refugee evacuations from the nations most affected to the safest nations.

Third, we should work on ways to locate and destroy the so-called Pandora’s Box and end this disaster once and for all.

I ask you all, friends. Let us hang together in this, sapient-kind’s darkest hour. Together. Until dawn.

May the Gods keep us all in this hour.

May they forever continue to Bless Allanea.